


Clarence Adaar: Kleptomaniac Slut Falls in Love

by Sorted



Series: The Tall (*snort*) Tale of Clarence Adaar [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adaar Bangs Skyhold, Awkwardness, Canon Divergent, Doomsday Goldfish, Friendship, Jealousy, M/M, Marginally Anachronistic, Sex, multiple POVs, rom-com-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-13 00:52:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 20,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16006850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorted/pseuds/Sorted
Summary: In which Clarence Adaar, irrepressible disaster, meets A Really Hot Guy and wants to bang him so bad.Said Hot Guy also happens to be a blast from Dorian's past...and Bull might not be totally sure what to do about this.





	1. Cole versus Sexy Memories, Part 1: Not Helping

**Author's Note:**

> The first in the series had only hints, but this second half is more of a direct sequel to [Bought, Sold](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14744234), which is Dorian's backstory for this fic.

“Cassandra, who’s ‘Regalyan’?”

“ _No one_ to concern yourself with.”

“You were thinking about the time you—”

“ _Now_ I’m thinking about something else. Can you guess?”

“My hat wouldn’t fit _there…_ ”

_Try me_ , Cassandra thought, but Cole got the odd sense that she didn’t actually want him to. So, confused, he went back to his usual state—a sort of “hovering” awareness, waiting for something to call him.

Cassandra, red-faced and glowering, found herself immediately facing a grinning giant. “ _Regalyan_ , huh? Sounds like a fine fellow…old friend of yours?”

“I would prefer not to speak of him.” Cassandra craned her neck to look around the massive Inquisitor, hoping to spy some bandits on the road. Nothing would distract him like a dozen people to kill—and then pockets to loot. Alas, their constant travels through this part of the Hinterlands had cut down on crime considerably. No one attacked them.

“All right, all right, suit yourself.” A shrug. “Just wanted to know what I’m up against, and how he’s managed to get into that spot in your pretty head that I can’t.”

She sighed. “You are not ‘up against’ anything, Inquisitor. Regalyan is dead.”

Adaar’s face fell instantly. “Oh.” He winced. “I’m sorry.” Cassandra nodded, hoping the subject was now sufficiently awkward that the Inquisitor would drop it. There was a silent pause; then… “You know I think you’re amazing, right?”

“…I beg your pardon?”

That was when Cole chimed in again. “He’s trying to help.”

An apologetic grin. “That’s it. I just mean…I didn’t want to poke.”

“Curiosity from caring, interest inside, reaching, wishing—wounded. Not intentional…an accident.”

Adaar threw a thumb at the spirit. “What he said.”

“I…see.” Cassandra felt her inner defenses soften. She smiled—sort of. “It is of no concern. You are forgiven.”

Adaar’s grin was suddenly bright and happy again. “Whew! Thanks, Cassandra. You’re as beautiful as your bottom.”

Silence. Cassandra wondered if anyone else could hear her teeth grinding. Then, Cole: “…You’re doing it wrong. That didn’t help.”


	2. Cole versus Sexy Memories, Part 2: Dorian versus Sex in a Tent

“ _Rilienus. Skin tan like fine whiskey, cheekbones shaded, lips curl when he smiles._ He would have said yes.”

“I’ll…thank you not to do that again, please.” _I know._ _That’s why I didn’t ask him._

Of course, now Adaar was giving him looks—very blatant, curious looks. That man couldn’t stand being left out of anything. But he wasn’t the one Dorian was concerned with.

The Bull was _not_ giving him “looks.” The Bull _looked_ , with his ever-neutral listening face, silently cataloguing everything about everyone, because Tal-Vashoth or not, he couldn’t _stop_.

And if Dorian wanted him to wonder, just a little? Well, the Bull would ask, if he realized Dorian wanted him to; otherwise he would not. Naturally. He never pushed. He never pulled. He just stood still and waited, and then blew Dorian’s mind the moment he was told to.

_Maker preserve me from muscular, horned giants._

\--

“So who’s this Rilienus, hey? You’ve never mentioned him.”

_Oh, he almost made it a whole day without asking. And he managed to wait until we were camped. He’s improving._

It was _cold_ in the Emprise, and Dorian didn’t want to think about this right now. But the past, it seemed, had left him alone too long, and he was overdue for an unpleasant reminder.

“Someone I knew in Tevinter, Inquisitor. Nothing more.”

But Adaar pushed, because he had to. If he wanted it, he didn’t relent until he got it. “He sounds hot. Was he hot?”

Dorian sighed. “Yes, very.”

A grin. “Did you two fuck?”

“No, we did not.”

“Was that what he would have said yes to, though? Did you want to fuck him but never asked?”

_Multiple questions, ugh._ “That was not, no. We did not have sex because he was a slave.”

Adaar winced. Some things, after all, did get through his thick skull and dampen his carefree exuberance. “Oh. Shit.” Then, after a pause, “He’s not dead, is he?”

_An excellent question._ Dorian felt the old tug in his gut—the worry. The not knowing, the never having a way to find out… “I have no idea,” he said quietly.

Adaar made a face, then brightened. “Hey, if he’s alive and I ever meet him, think he’d let me fuck him?”

“Presuming he is also no longer a slave, and is able to make his own decision in that regard?” His tone may have been a little sharp.

“Uh, yeah. You know. Everything else aside, think he’d be into me?”

Dorian gave Adaar a bland look. “I have no idea. Qunari killed his father, and he probably hasn’t ever seen one up close in Tevinter. He’s also an elf. Bedding a _human_ would have been outside of his usual territory, when I knew him.”

Undaunted, Adaar grinned. “Ooh, a whole new world. I’d give a sexy little Vint elf the time of his life. Once you go grey, you never go away!” A wink.

Dorian almost opened his mouth to disagree, but his mind was quicker. _I got over you well enough, didn’t I?_ wouldn’t prove his point, because Adaar would just come back with _Yeah, but now you’re fucking the Bull. He’s grey too, sweetheart!_ and then Dorian would sigh.

So he just skipped straight to the sigh.

\--

There were Rules. Not ones established by anyone else—just Dorian’s Rules. The most relevant, at the moment, was that he did not have sex in camp. Skyhold only, even if he and the Bull were travelling together. Even if it had been weeks. Even if he couldn’t stop thinking about how he felt after _three times in a row_ or how good it could be—good enough to make him lose control of his magic. Just slightly. Just enough to start a tiny little fire.

Just better than any other lover in his life.

But no—not in camp. Adaar had excellent hearing, he had no scruples about _listening_ , and he had no discretion. The Bull’s openness looked almost prudish in comparison. He wasn’t discreet, but he wasn’t blisteringly explicit either—rather tame, really. Not so, Adaar.

But the Emprise was just so _cold_. Dorian could survive it when wrapped in enough layers to be dangerously cumbersome, and as long as he was moving, walking, and fighting. But in camp, when he had to take everything off to dry it out for the next day…when he had to sleep in a _tent_ with nothing but a woefully distant campfire! If he could just warm up enough, then fifty or so blankets might keep him comfortable. But he couldn’t _get warm_ in the first place.

The Bull watched him shivering in the tent they shared, draining all his mana trying to rub magic heat into his ice-cold feet. He sighed. “You don’t warm up extremities with external heat, Dorian. Not for more than a minute, anyway. You need to get your circulation going. Then your feet will warm up on their own.”

Adaar would had said such a thing with an obvious tone of seduction. The Bull’s tone was neutral. He could have been talking about sex, or just going for a quick jog—however Dorian cared to take it.

He glanced at the Bull. “Well. Rules are rules. This will have to do.”

A knowing look. “If it worked, fine. But you haven’t been sleeping well.” The Bull moved to lie down in his bedroll. “You could at least share with me. Offer’s still on the table.”

But that was another Rule. Not one Dorian had discussed. Sharing bodily fluids was all well and good, but he preferred not to share a bed. Particularly not when there had been no sexual prelude. “As if it would be that simple,” he snorted—or tried to, amidst the shivering.

A slow grin. “You saying you can’t keep your hands off me, big guy?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Quite the reverse, if anything.”

“Hey.” Bull’s grin faded. “I wouldn’t touch you. You gave me a boundary. No sex in camp. I’m good with that.”

This—another difference. Adaar understood boundaries and would never violate an outright _no_. But he did have a tendency to ask a few times—just to make sure.

To be perfectly blunt, he _wheedled_. He was eight feet of solid muscle and he wheedled like a boy denied a sweet.

_Would that Bull were a little…well_. Not that Dorian wanted Bull wheedling. But he could at least _ask_ , once.

“It’s fortunate you’ll never be in politics,” Dorian muttered.

The Bull half-frowned, half-smiled. “Sorry, what?”

_Well, perhaps that was a bit of a non sequitur._

__Dorian sighed. “I simply mean that politicians must be able to make convincing arguments, sway the undecided to their side—if possible, dismantle the opposition. You’d be abysmal at it, with your insistence on letting everyone be.”

“Hmm.” Bull was studying him. “Have to agree with you. I like hitting things better.”

“I noticed.”

A pause. “You want me to be convincing?”

Because the answer was mostly already _yes_ , Dorian’s first instinct was to scoff and deny it. But he knew Bull would listen to the words, even if he saw through the tone. So instead, he studied Bull in return, with a superior expression. “I expect you’d fail. However, it might be interesting to see you try.”

“Mm.” Bull sat up—slowly. Just as slowly crawled toward Dorian. Put himself in Dorian’s space, then closer. Let his chest brush Dorian’s shoulder, his thick arm pressed to Dorian’s back. His voice, when he spoke, was deep and soft and breathed right in Dorian’s ear. “Come…here. I’ll warm you up, and I’ll do it so quietly, no one will hear.” _How did he know?_ Or perhaps he didn’t really know that this was part of the reason for the Rule. Perhaps he was guessing. “I’ll lick every inch of you until your whole body is burning. I’ll fuck you until you pass out, warm to your toes, loose and relaxed and satisfied, and no one will hear a thing. Just…come…here.”

Struggling to keep his breathing even, Dorian contemplated his response—just for a moment. Then he decided that even the wittiest riposte he could invent would not help, so he quit while he was ahead. Turned, and met the Bull’s mouth with a heady, open kiss.

_Well, what are rules for, if not breaking?_

Without further ado, Dorian…went.

The Bull laid him out in a bedroll that smelled of Bull, and he wrapped a very thorough gag around Dorian’s mouth. “I won’t do anything to restrict your hands. Snap your fingers if you want to stop.” Dorian nodded. Bull already had his clothing unsettled enough that he could reach under and inside it and touch skin. His hand…it was so warm. Dorian wanted it everywhere, wanted to press himself against the Bull’s body, craving his heat.

Then, it was the Bull’s mouth on him. Licking, kissing, sucking…sometimes biting, but only in the places Dorian liked to be bitten—on thick muscle, not where skin covered bone. On arms and chest and neck, but not the clavicles. Those, Bull sucked instead. Like the arch of his hipbone—open mouth, no teeth. But the curve of his buttocks, not far away—teeth and tongue and a mark that made Dorian shiver. His cock throbbed. Bull’s hands were being terribly coy tonight. Dorian twisted, trying to push himself closer to Bull’s mouth.

With a grin, Bull evaded. Then his hands found Dorian’s feet and began to rub what chill remained out of them, his tongue tracing the shin, teeth on the calf muscle, kisses just under his knees. It was almost offensive, really—Dorian didn’t remember _telling_ him any of this. They’d only slept together eight or nine times; what right did the Bull have to suddenly turn out so good at knowing exactly how Dorian liked to be touched?

Normally, he’d snap this complaint out while biting back moans and articulating himself far better than his physical situation should allow—but Dorian was gagged, and silence was a vital part of this. This left him no particular way to express his criticisms without stopping the whole thing, and Dorian was not going to stop the whole thing. Bull’s mouth was moving higher, sucking bruises up the inside of his thigh, and Dorian was quite disinterested in interrupting his progress.

A good thing, too.

Bull’s mouth on him was significantly quieter than usual, which just proved what Dorian expected all along—that he’d been intentionally noisy when sucking Dorian off before. Probably would be again, too—and then Dorian would tell him he needn’t sound like an animal, and Dorian now knew for a fact Bull could be more polite. And then Bull would point out the obvious: “Yeah, but you love it.” And then…Dorian would need to come up with a rebuttal in advance. Nothing was coming to mind at the moment.

“Feeling warmer?” Bull had stopped to whisper in his ear. 

Eyes hazy, Dorian nodded.

“Continue?”

Dorian nodded _harder_.

Lifted, shifted—Dorian ended up lying fully atop Bull, his whole body pressed to Bull’s hot skin. But his back didn’t get cold, because Bull pulled blankets over him before doing anything else.

Then big hands on the backs of his thighs, moving up, squeezing his ass, sneaking inward…

And Dorian got to lie on a heated bed, cozy as could be, as Bull opened him up with his fingers so slowly—lazily, even. Dorian’s cold hands sought all the warmest spots on Bull’s body, and the big idiot didn’t even seem to mind.

It was strange. So nearly silent, only the occasional barely-heard slick sound, Dorian’s moans muted, Bull making no noise but the occasional whisper of appreciation. “That’s it…open up for me. You’re gorgeous. Getting looser…you’re going to be so fucking beautiful when you take my cock, aren’t you?”

Without the ability to speak, the pressure of a reply was gone. Dorian couldn’t snark and bluff and deny. All he could do was breathe hard through his nose and let the gag silence even his whimpers and moans of agreement.

And he did agree, oh yes. Unable to talk, it was pointless to think of…anything, really. His mind shut off, and his body answered every whisper of admiration and intent with _agreement_ —arching back, rubbing together, _yes, I’m gorgeous; yes, I’m ready for you; yes, it’s good._

On his back again, when Bull was sure he was ready, and Dorian was blanketed with the largest man he’d ever known, covered with him, wrapped in the heat of his body, and…and given one soft kiss, in the center of his forehead, before Bull slid into him, slow, deep, insistent.

Dorian shook, cried out—but it was muffled. Everything was quiet, muffled; only his heartbeat was loud in his ears—and Bull’s. He clung to Bull’s body, pulled them closer and closer; he wasn’t even slightly chilled anymore. He was sweating, burning up, but he couldn’t get enough. Bull was huge and thick and filled him and overwhelmed him…and kept pressing kisses to his temples, his brow, his mussed and sweaty hair.

“You’re almost there, aren’t you?” Still a whisper, not enough to break the quiet all around them.

Dorian could only nod.

“Me too, big guy. Can’t help it. It’s so good inside you.”

He nodded again—no need to clarify. Just agree.

Bull managed to get his hand between them and begin to stroke Dorian’s aching cock. His thrusts moved in time, the angle perfect, the pressure perfect, having sex in a tent was not supposed to be this _perfect_ but it was, and Dorian liked to impress, he liked to hold back and fight the end, but not this time. This time, he liked to let himself go, wrapped in warm, massive arms—so he did.

He jerked and shook as his orgasm took him, sounds of pleasure vibrating in his throat but reduced to near-silence by the gag. The moment the peak began to fade, Bull carefully pulled out. Dorian might have made a little sound of protest, but the gag thankfully muffled that, too. Then Bull took himself in hand—the same hand now covered in Dorian’s seed—and stroked himself to completion. Dorian felt the hot splash of it on his skin and moaned.

As soon as Bull was finished, he removed the gag and brought water for Dorian’s dry mouth. He stayed close, keeping Dorian wrapped up and warm as he cleaned them off—probably smart, Dorian reflected, that he’d pulled out. Much easier to clean.

“Thank you,” he murmured, when he could reliably speak, though his voice was a little unintentionally whispery. “You’ve kindly saved my toes from frostbite; I shall owe you a drink for that, at least.”

Still meticulously wiping away his sweat, Bull grinned at him. “I’ll take the drink if you’re buying, but you don’t owe me. That was damn good.”

“Well.”

“Got to admit, I missed your yapping, though.”

Dorian’s heart did an odd little thing at that—which he immediately stomped out. He arched an eyebrow. “ _Yapping_.”

A deep chuckle. “Yeah.” Then Bull was lying down beside him, pulling Dorian against his warm body, wrapping him up in the blankets.

Dorian considered protesting. Even with his whole body warm and relaxed, he should at least make a token protest. Or say something disparaging about this sleeping arrangement, to make it clear he wasn’t pleased and it wouldn’t happen again. But Bull was being so very nice and gentlemanly, for a brute, so it would be poor manners to come off too caustic…

In the midst of choosing his reply, Dorian fell asleep.


	3. Cole versus Sexy Memories, Part 3: Ohhhhhh!

“He almost says the word, sometimes. _Katoh_. He tastes it in his mouth, sweet release a breath away… But he doesn’t for you, and for him, because it makes it mean more—a fuller feeling, a brighter burst.”

There was a time when the kid might have been talking about Adaar…but not anymore. Not for a few weeks now.

“Yeah.” Bull cleared his throat. “How does he feel about you saying this in front of everybody?”

Dorian’s expression was as mildly pleasant as ever. “Not good, actually,” he announced, in the perfect tone for a comment on the weather.

“Maker’s nutsack,” Adaar grumbled. _Still pissed about being left out, then_.

“You act like you’re in charge, The Iron Bull, but it’s really him. He decides when, and you measure it carefully, enough to enjoy, to energize, but never to anger. He submits, but you serve.”

“Not getting any better,” Dorian lightly added.

“Try inviting an extra person,” Adaar quipped—not nearly as cheerfully.

“Look, kid, maybe you should stop. Let other people worry about how they have sex and who they do it with. You know—people who have actually _done it_.”

Wide blue eyes stared at him for a long moment—or rather, they did that thing where Cole looked at him but it felt like he was looking at a point somewhere _beyond_ him. _Creepy._ “Ohhh…was I supposed to have sex with Marguerite?”

“That may have been the idea, yeah.”

A thoughtful pause. “I’m sorry, The Iron Bull. Sex wouldn’t have helped her. She needed to not hurt anymore.”

“Marguerite?” Adaar piped up. “You mean the girl who used to go by ‘Candy’? The one who could swallow—”

“Yeah boss, that’s her.”

“Huh.” Another long, thoughtful pause. “I miss her. She could swallow—”

“Yes, yes, truly Skyhold’s saddest loss. Perhaps we could focus on the task at hand?”

_Hmmm._ Bull studied the straight line of Dorian’s back. _That’s different._ Dorian usually didn’t mind this sort of talk—it was pretty common with Adaar around. Maybe he wanted to get off the subject before Adaar got back around to mentioning that he’d be up for a threesome— _again_.

Bull had told him it wasn’t going to happen—in terms that Adaar understood quite well. He’d backed off, actually. He didn’t specifically invite Dorian to bed anymore—he paid him compliments, still, but that was all. He also had stopped coming to Bull for a fuck, which spoke volumes about how he saw their “relationship”—if you could call ongoing sex a relationship. Bull didn’t know much about this stuff. He _did_ know that Adaar just casually mentioning threesomes wasn’t the same as an invitation to one…but Dorian seemed uncomfortable when it came up. Bull was still working out why.

Fact remained, though—he could tell Dorian didn’t like it. 

“Ah, the hero arrives.”

The rest would have to wait. Looked like they had found the demon.

“Talky ones. I hate the talky ones,” Bull growled.

The demon silkily offered his “nonviolent” solution—which seemed pretty dense to Bull, because when it came to demons, he thought you always _wanted_ a violent solution. But Adaar gave the demon a once-over and said, “Yeah? What solution is that?”

“That’s how they get you,” Dorian murmured, warning. They were on the same page about this, then. Bull was good with that.

Then, Adaar: “Virgins? Do you know any?” He was practically snickering.

The demon looked caught. “Ah, actually, I suppose not. They’re so terribly hard to come by these days…”

“Why try, though?” Adaar shrugged. “I mean, I don’t mind popping some sweet little thing’s cherry, but I’d rather have someone who knows what they’re doing.”

“I’d offer you a castle full of lovers, but…”

Adaar laughed aloud. “I’ve already _got_ that!”

The demon smiled tightly. “Indeed. Well, if you’ve any interest in _treasure_ , I possess quite a few rare and extremely valuable items…”

Bull _watched_ Adaar’s ears perk up, and he was about to get really worried. Fortunately, Adaar sighed. “I’ll just have to grab them off your corpse then. Poor demon.”

“Ugh! _Choice. Spirit!_ ”

Then they were fighting, _shit yeah, finally_.

True to his word, Adaar looted that demon thoroughly. Then, also true to his word, he returned to Michel de Chevin, grinning. “Killed your demon, handsome! You’ll join now, right?”

“I would be honored to serve the Inquisition, if it would have me.” A courtly bow.

“Oh, I’d _love_ to have you, handsome.” Adaar was in Standard Adaar Mode—purring tones, warm, roaming eyes, and a charming wink.

Michel wasn’t clueless, but he wasn’t much affected either. “I shall return to your outpost.”

Adaar watched him go—or watched his rear end go, at least. “He’s pretty.”

“Which is prettier, Inquisitor—the amulet you found or the chevalier’s arse?” Dorian, hiding a smile.

Adaar blinked, straightening. He pulled out his amulet and inspected it, then craned his head to watch the disappearing man. His expression became distressed. “Um…”

Bull chuckled. “Probably the amulet right now. But get the pants off that guy, and the ass wins.”

Adaar’s expression cleared, and he smiled brightly. “There you go!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marguerite is fine, she just went back to her home town. :)


	4. Dorian versus A Blast from the Past

The Inquisitor was in the Emerald Graves with Sera, Cassandra, and Solas when the merchant caravan arrived from the Free Marches. Dorian heard the horn blow and decided to step out for a bit and see if the wagons had brought any of his research materials—or a decent vintage.

He stopped at the top of the steps to the lower courtyard, eyes riveted to one of the riders.

_It cannot be possible._

He stopped again at the bottom of the stairs as the rider dismounted.

“Rilienus…”

Uncommonly beautiful in commoners’ clothing, it was him. As he turned and spotted Dorian, there was no mistake. As he smiled, there was even less uncertainty.

He came forward. “Lord Dorian—”

But Rilienus fell silent there, as Dorian pulled him close and embraced him tightly. “You’re alive,” he breathed. “I am…relieved.”

Carefully, the elf returned the embrace. “I am glad to see you well, Lord Dorian.”

“But…” He pulled back, studying the man’s beautiful brown eyes, “how? What are you doing here in the South?”

Rilienus calmly met his gaze. “Your father sent me.”

Dorian’s expression shuttered, his heart turning cold. “My father. What does Magister Halward want now?”

But Rilienus shook his head. “My lord, you have the wrong idea, I fear. You asked your father to send me—as proof, I think, that I was alive. So, he freed me.” That smile returned, just slightly—just as beautiful as ever. “I am _liberatus_ now. Your father signed my release papers, and then, after I was free, he asked if I might consent to do him a favor. I had no obligation to obey, but he offered to pay for my journey if I would but visit you here. He has no designs upon you. I am free to return or remain; he only asked that I deliver this letter.” Rilienus produced a sealed envelope from his jacket, smiling more fully. “So I came. Who could resist a chance to see the world? And…I wished very much to know that you were well.”

Taking the letter, Dorian felt…stunned. Its contents…he would read them later. He heard a voice talking to Dennet and glanced that way. The Iron Bull was there, turned just enough that he could keep his one good eye on Dorian. He hadn’t intruded yet, though. He _never pushed._

“I am truly glad to see you are well, my friend. I…suppose I might welcome you to Skyhold and let you see this Inquisition you have no doubt heard much of.”

“I have indeed.”

“Iron Bull!” Dorian called, and the giant turned fully toward him at once. Dorian beckoned, and Bull nodded to Dennet and headed over.

“Hey big guy. Friend of yours?”

Feeling somewhat sheepish, Dorian introduced them. “Rilienus, this is the Iron Bull, a mercenary captain in the Inquisition’s employ. Bull, this is…Rilienus. A _liberatus_ of Tevinter.”

Bull knew enough to know the term for “former slave,” but he didn’t push. Rilienus looked up, and up, head tipped back…then brown eyes darted to Dorian, and there was that deep and hidden thought in them again. As well as a bit of amusement.

“A pleasure to meet an…eight-foot qunari, my lord.” Dorian was the first to drop the eye contact, chuckling. He cleared his throat.

“Yes…he is that.”

He could feel Bull watching them, measuring, but he was glancing at Rilienus, whose curiosity was fading into mirth.

Dorian was glad, in a way, that Rilienus didn’t ask. He would have struggled to answer. But the elf seemed to guess. “Your time in the South must have been very interesting, my lord. Perhaps we may talk more of your work with the Inquisition when I have gained accommodations? And you may tell me more of your…friends, here.”

\--

Dorian took the Vint elf into the castle, insisting on seeing him settled, and Bull watched them go. He added these new bits to the appropriate pile of details. The longing in Cole’s words when he “heard” the name Rilienus in Dorian’s mind, “he would have said yes,” _liberatus_ , and the way the elf’s eyes studied him and smiled knowingly at Dorian. There was something there, no doubt—probably a whole lot of something. Not that it was Bull’s business—probably not, anyway. If Dorian needed his help with something, Bull would give it as soon as he asked. Otherwise, Dorian’s affairs were his own.

Bull felt a little queasy, for some reason. _Huh. Shouldn’t have put so many guimauves in the cocoa._

\--

_My dear son,_

_As per your request when last we spoke, I have sent your former slave to Skyhold. As he can tell you, he remained with our house after you left, but in a common capacity. His original purpose is gone, and for the role I once planned for him, I am ever remorseful._

_He will tell you the circumstances of his freedom, and I have naught to add to that; only, that I hope you will see the sincerity of my wish for reconciliation in this. Rilienus may remain with you or return to Tevinter and his family; I have supplied him with the funds to do as he chooses._

_I pray this letter finds you in health,_

_H. Pavus._

\--

There were a great many nobles visiting Skyhold in the wake of Halamshiral, and Josephine looked at her wits’ end when Dorian asked about a room for his guest from Tevinter. As she shuffled through papers, promising to “do her very best,” Dorian retracted the request. “Please, Ambassador, do not trouble yourself. My guest can remain with me; I have more than enough room.”

“Oh, but I would not wish to insult our visitor from Tevinter…”

“Milady,” Rilienus quietly interjected, “I am no noble of any worth. I am a common man, best suited to be boarded with the servants. Lord Dorian need not offer his room. If there is a bunk or a bedroll with your kitchen staff, that is entirely appropriate for me.”

“Now Ser, we simply _couldn’t_ do that to a personal friend of Lord Pavus…”

“Precisely.” Dorian took Rilienus’ arm. “You are not for the servants’ quarters, my friend, but we need not tax the available rooms either. My dear woman, with your leave, I will find a mattress and install him in my room. I insist,” he cut off her last denial, “and I apologize for troubling you.”

Thus, Josephine relented, and Dorian took Rilienus with him.

They had to have a mattress made up, stuffed with fresh straw and carried up to Dorian’s room. In truth, it was a small room, and Dorian spent very little time there, but he had managed to slowly gather some comforts. He compensated for Rilienus’ straw mattress laid on the floor by putting him near the fire, and covering the straw with a down comforter to soften it. Then he took his guest around Skyhold, introducing him to many people, showing him the library, and telling him of those absent, including the Inquisitor.

“I had heard your leader was a qunari…or Tal-Vashoth?”

“Vashoth, properly,” Dorian answered.

“And the other?” A faint smile.

“Iron Bull? He is Tal-Vashoth now, though he was not when I met him.”

An amused glance. “And is Inquisitor Adaar also ‘an eight-foot qunari’?”

Dorian met his eyes, and understanding flashed between them. “They are both of a height, yes. Adaar is a bit…leaner, in his build.”

“And you prefer…?”

Dorian sighed. “All right, if you must know, I am bedding the Iron Bull. But yes, I have had Adaar as well. There are fewer in Skyhold who have _not_ had him than those who have.”

“Oh?” There was clear surprise in his tone, as Rilienus glanced around at the many, many people in Skyhold. Dorian nodded. 

“I am glad he is not here at present, actually. If you remain long enough to meet him, I should warn you…”


	5. Iron Bull versus Another Gorgeous Vint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, this is the quietest fandom I've ever written for. Then again, it's my first AO3 fandom. Maybe that's just how it is on this site.

Dorian brought his pretty elven friend to the tavern that night, shortly after Bull heard the servants talking about putting the extra mattress in the magister’s room. They had some assumptions about why, and Bull couldn’t comment on most of them. All he could say for certain was that Rilienus was a free man, so there was no need for the staff to start spreading the rumor that the magister had sent to Tevinter for his slave and was keeping him in Skyhold as fuel for his evil blood magic.

The Chargers had accepted Dorian’s frequent presence, and Krem took one look at his companion and made room, and the rest took their cues from him. It made sense—the man was obviously a Vint, even before you heard him speak, but the pointed ears meant there was no way he was part of the ruling class. Skinner took to him just as fast. The rest soon found out about his “former slave” status and no more needed to be said—he was in.

They skirted any mention of _whose_ former slave he was, and Bull thought that was wise, for Dorian’s sake.

Krem probably knew, though. Krem would realize pretty quick that there was no other way an altus and a slave would ever have known each other.

And he watched Dorian with the new guy. There was definitely something there. Dorian’s smiles were easy and genuine in Rilienus’ company—no cautious distance between them. The elf, for his part, was harder to read—both because he was a stranger to Bull, and because he seemed pretty good at concealing his thoughts. Probably without training too—if he’d wound up in Qunari lands and converted, he’d have been Ben-Hassrath for sure. He was a natural.

“Oh, a fisherman?” Dalish cocked her head. “What shall you be doing here in Skyhold, then?”

“Not fishing,” Rocky commented.

“Can you fight?” _Skinner_.

“Ah, no…I never learned such skills.”

“Well, you aren’t a mage,” Dalish added. “Can you shoot a bow?”

“No, alas…”

“Any good with healing?” _Stitches_.

“My mother was, but not I, I’m afraid…”

“Like to blow shit up?”

It looked like another denial was about to pass Rilienus’ lips—after a momentary pause of surprise—when Dorian interjected, “He’s quite good with ropes.”

Every eye turned to him, eyebrows high.

“…Fishing line!” Dorian snapped, eyes going just a bit wide as he must have realized how that sounded. “As a fisherman, he made his own nets and repaired them, and he knows all about making rope and tying knots. Surely that would be a useful skill, yes? If…” he glanced at Rilienus, “That is, _if_ you wished to stay and aid the Inquisition. I’m certain your skills would be valued.”

“Aye,” Krem commented. “Number of ropes Chief breaks or frays, Skyhold could use a roper.”

“Hey, _I_ don’t break the ropes…”

“Yes, yes, do tell everyone assembled,” Dorian snapped. Bull just grinned and stopped talking with a shrug. The Vint elf’s eyes cut over to Dorian, but there was no surprise in them at all—just that warm, knowing look.

Yeah. Definitely something there.

_Hm._ Bull’s ale wasn’t sitting well. _Maybe the grain went a little off. Or the brewing cask wasn’t sealed right._

Dorian departed, late, taking Rilienus with him. There was a tugging in Bull’s gut that made him think about…well, not _inviting_ Dorian to his room, because he didn’t really do that, but he had occasionally flirted and put the “open door” out there as a reminder—when Dorian wasn’t pushing his way through it without any prompting. Usually a suggestion was all the Vint needed. Bull could have pulled him aside for a second, maybe _suggested_ that Rilienus might like some space and privacy his first night in Skyhold, and his door was open to Dorian if so.

But he didn’t do it. He just smiled and waved as they left, and tried not to wonder just how much was there, and if any of it was the sort of stuff that would only come up alone behind a locked door.


	6. Dorian versus His Own Damn Heart

“My apologies again for the Chargers. I fear there is little one can do about them.”

A smile. “You have interesting friends here, Lord Dorian.”

“Rilienus,” he sighed, “please. You are a free man, and this is the South. There are no titles here, only names.”

“If you insist…” He smiled. “Dorian.”

Keeping his usual pleasant mask in place, Dorian smiled. “There, isn’t that better?” He poured himself a cup of water from the pitcher, then another, and offered it to Rilienus, who had toed off his boots and begun unbuttoning his shirt. He stopped at about halfway to take the water.

“My thanks.”

Their fingertips brushed. Dorian tried not to notice. Tried not to feel his skin prickle. Tried not to see the line of Rilienus’ throat as he swallowed the water.

“I think I will stay.”

“Hm?” He looked up, and Rilienus was closer, setting the cup on the table. Eyes warm, glancing up at him.

“I mean, I would like to say. My family knows I am well. I spent time with them before I left Tevinter. And this cause you fight for…it seems a good one.” His pretty lips curled. “Should I join the Inquisition?”

Dorian swallowed, though his friendly expression didn’t waver. “If you like. You’d certainly be most welcome…”

But he was cut off there, words stolen by Rilienus’ mouth.

A hand at the back of his neck pulled him down, a lean, strong arm at his back crushed their bodies together. The kiss was breathtaking. Passionate. Everything he’d once longed for. For a moment, Dorian couldn’t help himself—he responded in kind, pulling Rilienus closer, visions in his mind of the body he held, the possibilities suddenly open to him…

They fell on Dorian’s bed, Rilienus on top of him, still kissing. Lips soft but commanding, tongue pleasuring and unafraid, soft hair brushing his face…

No stubble, no scruff. No scarred lip.

Dorian inhaled, pulled back—only slightly, but that was all he needed. Rilienus stopped, eyes opening to search his face. Dorian felt raw. Confused. But…also clear, somehow.

Maybe honesty wouldn’t help. He was honest anyway.

“Once, I dreamed of this,” he murmured, brushing locks of hair back to see Rilienus’ dark eyes. “I longed for the chance…” But Dorian stopped there, with a sigh. “Well. We could have been…remarkable.”

Brown eyes softly smiling. “But not as remarkable as an eight-foot qunari.”

He huffed. “There is nothing so very wonderful about _that_.” But it rang a little hollow—and a little true. An odd mix. The qunari mercenary _wasn’t_ wonderful, wasn’t anything Dorian had ever wanted or dreamed of. But he was good, better than anyone Dorian had ever had. He was frustrating and soothing. Embarrassing and delightful. He didn’t _want_ to want the Bull. 

But he…

He wanted to want the beauty in his arms _now_. The one who followed him to the South, who kissed him unbidden, who _pushed_.

But he didn’t.

Dorian sighed, and Rilienus rolled off him and lay there, head propped on one arm. “We hardly knew each other then, but you helped me escape from my father,” he began, shifting to meet that gaze. “I owe you my life…”

But Rilienus was shaking his head. “Perhaps you forget that by fleeing your father and the comfort of your home, _you_ saved _my_ life.”

Dorian winced. “And now you’ve come all the way to the South, and I…”

“My lord, please.” The elf sighed. “Dorian. I did not come with the expectations you are imagining. I came because I have worried for you and wondered how you are, and because your father asked it of me as a favor, and he was a good master.” He must have seen Dorian’s expression, because he insisted gently, “I _know_ what he thought to do, but you do not know his regret. In the years since, he has been the kindest master possible. Perhaps in recompense. I do not know, but I long ago forgave him.” He smiled, with sympathy. “I know you have not, but that is your own affair. What I meant to say was…I did not hope there would be an ‘us’ if I came here as a free man. If you wanted it, we could indeed have become something remarkable. You do not want it, so I am content. I only wanted to offer the chance.”

He looked at Rilienus a long moment. “I _am_ sorry.”

A warmer smile. “I am not. I am glad you are not alone.” Then Rilienus sat up, and Dorian followed. “So. Is he everything you ever dreamed?”

“Ha!” Dorian scoffed. “I have never once dreamed of a brute like _him_.”

But Rilienus laughed too, at that—a low chuckle. “I fear that is untrue, whether you know it or not. I held vigil at your bedside when you were my master, remember. I overheard things you said in your fever that prove otherwise.”

Eyes wide, Dorian’s head snapped around. “What? _What_ did you hear?”


	7. Sera versus Trees, Cassandra versus Romance

Sera did _not_ bloody _like_ the pissing Emerald Graves.

Nothing but stupid woods as far as her eyes could see—and not just ordinary stupid woods either. Stupid woods with stupid ruins and stupid giant trees with stupid tree roots and stupid rocks all over the stupid ground. She wanted to go back to Skyhold, and Widdle. This was shite.

At least there was Cassandra, to tell her all about the pretty Divine, and funny stuff like being born on a carriage floor.

At least she got one good jab in at stupid Solas. She kept giggling over his angry face. Though it was a little spoiled by the Inquisitor saying, “Hey now, Sera, come on. No laughing about dead people.” Then he thought a bit and amended, “Unless they were bad, and we killed them in a funny way.”

Solas didn’t much go in for that idea either. “What, pray tell, is a ‘funny’ way to kill a living being, who might have a family left bereft?”

Adaar gave it some serious thought. “When you freeze one right before Cassandra shield bashes him and he explodes into chunks!”

The vision of once-human pot roast all over the ground made Sera retch. “Ew, parts are gross!”

Adaar shrugged. “All right, then…how about that time Solas did the rocks-popping-up-out-of-the-ground thing, that looks like a fist, and caught the guy square between the legs so he died in the air, doing a split, and grabbing his dick?” A huge grin. “You’ve got to admit that’s funny!”

Sera giggled. “All right, fair enough.”

Solas and Cassandra sighed.

That Fairbanks fellow turned out all right, though. Just a goodie helping the little people, like the Inquisition was doing—not as kitted out for it, but whatever. They could help him by killing a load of poncey bandits getting big ideas about making their own free nation or blah blah blah.

Then there was that Clara—pretty thing, her—saying how Fairbanks was really a noble. Sera didn’t believe _that_ for a second. Nobles were shite. They didn’t help little people.

She carried on not believing it until the final piece of evidence, and even then she wasn’t much convinced until they brought it all back to the fellow and he admitted it all.

“I don’t want to be entangled in that. I don’t want Clara in it, do you understand?”

_Friggin right_. 

Adaar seemed to agree, and he handed the stuff over.

“Thank you. This is best for everyone.” Fairbanks went straight to the fire with everything.

“Soooo…” Adaar was grinning. _Adaar-grinning_. “I like to show all my new agents around Skyhold personally, you know. I’d _love_ to give you a tour of the castle, _any_ time…”

“Thank you, Inquisitor, but I think I can be most useful out here. I could take the refugees to Argon’s Lodge. It would provide better shelter for these people. And we could create a base of operations for the Inquisition.”

The Inquisitor wasn’t discouraged, though. “Okay. I’ll come by soon, see how you’re doing. You know, see if you need anything.” Still _Adaar-grinning_. “Maybe camp with your people a bit, give us time to get better… _acquainted._ ”

Cassandra sighed. Sera grinned and sidled up to her. “Don’t you fret, Cassandra. That fellow’s got a shy chub-on for his sweet little farm girl. He won’t play slap-and-tickle with your big horny-horns.”

Another sigh. “Sera, there is nothing base between the Inquisitor and I.”

“Aww. Sorry to hear it.”

“Well, _I_ am not. He prefers his lovers brief and numerous, and I do not wish to be counted among such.”

“Wot? You want him down on one knee, all just for you, poetry and all that shite?” Sera giggled.

Cassandra gave her one of her Serious Looks, but it was a nicer sort, so Sera didn’t care. “What I want is unimportant. Our task is to defeat Corypheus. As long as we fight for that cause, I am content with him as he is.”

Sera nodded sagely. “So much for getting naked? Right.”

“That was never something I sought in the first place!”

“Sure,” Sera answered, smirking.

“Ugh, I give up.”

\--

Their expedition through the Graves took them north for a while, before they circled back and stopped by Argon’s Lodge. Cassandra could see that Fairbanks had settled his people there and done much to improve the defenses. The refugees would be safer, which was good.

They didn’t see the leader himself, at first, and no one was sure where he’d gone. “Oh well,” Adaar shrugged. “Let’s go poke around that shack, the separate one. I didn’t search carefully enough when we were through here before.”

So they were “poking around” the shack when Cassandra rounded a corner behind the building and stopped abruptly in her tracks.

She’d found Fairbanks. And…Clara.

The two of them were clasped together in a passionate kiss, but it was easy to see, even at a glance, that it was not a carnal touch. Fairbanks held Clara’s face in gentle hands, their expressions both blissful…

“Oof!”

And Adaar rounded the corner and slammed into Cassandra’s back, sending her stumbling forward and the lovers jumping apart with a little squeak of surprise from Clara.

“Oh I _seeeee_ ,” the ever-terrible Inquisitor drawled.

Fairbanks cleared his throat. “Inquisitor! We, ah, did not hear you coming.”

Sera and Solas rounded the other corner to the back of the cabin and stopped to take in the scene. “Small wonder,” Adaar grinned. Cassandra shot him a look.

“Inquisitor!”

“No, it’s…that is.” Fairbanks stammered. Cassandra noticed his fingers were still locked with Clara’s. “I mean, Inquisitor, I believe you have met Clara, my…fiancée.” The two of them looked at each other and blushed happily. Clearly, this news was quite recent.

_A man who forsook his noble birth to save the helpless…and who fell in love with a farm girl. One he could never have sought as a lord, but whom he is now free to marry…_ Cassandra’s heart was warmed deeply by the couple.

“Awwww,” Adaar replied. “Aren’t you two cute.” It sounded, however, like his admiration was mild, and mixed with disappointment. Cassandra was just waiting for a lewd comment… “Oh well. We’ll be at the lodge when you two are done, yeah?”

The Inquisitor led his party away from the happy couple, unaware of the wide-eyed glances among them. “He didn’t poke about his poker,” Sera whispered.

“He may truly be improving,” Solas rejoined, equally quiet.

“I cannot believe it,” Cassandra breathed.

“I can _hear_ all of you, you know,” Adaar called over his shoulder. He turned back with a glance and flicked one of his ear tips. “See these? Not saying they’re as long as _yours_ ,” he nodded at Sera and Solas, “but they’re pretty damn good just the same.”

Cassandra tried, “We expected…”

“Yeah, I know.” Adaar stuck his tongue out like a child. “They’re getting married and shit. If they wanna spice things up later, I’ll be around, but you don’t offer to play thirds right after the proposal. Not if they’re _friends_. You don’t steal nice stuff from friends.” Facing forward again, Adaar continued into the lodge.

Solas, stopping beside Cassandra, commented, “When history asks, you might say that the Inquisitor had a _fascinating_ code of personal conduct.” He leaned his staff out of the way and half-smiled at her. “And as far as what you write, it may be best to leave it at that.”


	8. Rilienus versus Bad Pick-Up Lines

Rilienus was covered in hemp fibers.

True to Lord Dorian’s claims about him, he could make rope, and now, still new to Skyhold, he’d found an out-of-the-way corner by the stables to braid hemp fibers. Lord Dorian himself had research to continue, and so Rilienus had settled himself among the working craftspeople of the Inquisition.

He finished a long coil of rope and set aside the hemp, stood, and brushed himself off. Bits of hemp showered around him, but much of it had gotten into his clothing. He pulled his shirt off and shook it out, then turned to the well.

Rilienus stood a moment, picking a few hemp fibers out of his shirt. They were stubborn, and numerous. He wouldn’t have bothered wearing a shirt at all if this were Tevinter, but even sitting in the sun became chilly after a while here in the South. He gave the shirt another hard shake, then left off and drew water from the well to rinse the hemp dust from his skin. He was just shaking out his hair when he heard someone behind him.

“Hel- _lo_ there!”

Rilienus turned, using one hand to push his hair out of his eyes, and found himself face to _chest_ with whomever had spoken. He looked way, way up— _qunari_ , clearly. Swept-back horns, grey skin…wide eyes and slack jaw.

“ _Wow._ ”

_Ah, of course._

He smiled faintly. “I suppose you must be Inquisitor Adaar?” Perhaps not the most appropriate greeting for the leader of the greatest power in southern Thedas, but Lord Dorian had explained quite thoroughly that formalities could be dispensed with when it came to him.

“So I am,” the giant breathed, a grin beginning to spread across his face. “And you—vision of unbearable perfection, what may I call you?”

“Rilienus, my lord.”

The smile widened, eyes lighting. “Ah, _Rilienus_. I have heard your name before. You’re a friend of Dorian’s, aren’t you?”

Hesitating, Rilienus opted to forgo the additional details. “I am.”

Clever eyes were studying him—although _drinking him in_ would not have been overly florid. “You’re from Tevinter, then. What are you doing here? How long have you been here? How did I miss _you?_ ”

Studiously containing his smile, Rilienus answered, “I believe, Inquisitor, you were away when I arrived from Tevinter. I came to see Lord Dorian, but I have been told that I may remain with the Inquisition if I wish…”

“Maker’s n— _yes_ , you can remain, _please_ remain! The Inquisition is _desperately_ in need of _you!_ Ah, your skills, I mean.” A lopsided grin. “We’re saving the world!”

“In that case,” Rilienus bowed slightly, “I will do what I am able to assist, Inquisitor.”

“Great…” The giant breathed. Rilienus picked his shirt up and moved to put it back on. The Inquisitor’s face fell immediately. “Oh…”

_Lord Dorian’s descriptions of him were quite accurate_. Amused, Rilienus affected innocence. “Is there a problem, Inquisitor?”

“Do you _have_ to wear that?” The huge man almost _whined_.

“My shirt?” Rilienus blinked. “Should I not? Most people do wear them.”

“But _you…_ ” A sigh. “Your body is so beautiful, it should never be hidden. A sculptor could not invent purer perfection. A statue of you would be a holy thing, which people would gaze upon in awe, inspired by the very idea that the Maker could create someone so beautiful.”

“I think these sculptors must not have seen many fishermen,” Rilienus commented, “if their imaginations are so lacking.”

“Oh, do not blame them! You are far more exquisite than any fisherman!”

Rilienus paused a moment, considering. This was certainly in keeping with what Lord Dorian had told him of the Inquisitor, and he could carry on bandying wits with the giant, but why bother? The man wanted to compliment him. The man no doubt wanted a great deal more than that, too, but that was no reason not to allow the compliment.

So Rilienus dipped his head once. “Thank you,” he said, and nothing more.

The simplicity seemed to throw the Inquisitor off for a moment. He blinked, head cocked to one side. Then, grin returning in force, he cheerfully asked, “So…fancy a fuck?”

It was difficult not to laugh. “I beg your pardon?”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong. We’re not talking about just _any_ fuck. We’re talking about the best night of your life, here. We’re talking about feeling things you’ve never felt before—mind-erasing, glorious, incredible _sex_.”

_From a melodramatic stage suitor to a merchant of questionable goods?_ “You certainly do not sell yourself short.”

Another huge grin. “Oh, definitely not. I’m much too _long_.”

Rilienus couldn’t help it anymore. He laughed aloud. The Inquisitor was even worse than Lord Dorian had said.

And he was beaming hopefully. Rilienus calmed himself enough to speak. “Thank you, but no.”

Surprise. “No? You mean no sex?”

“Correct. I’m flattered, but no.”

“Awww.” The giant _pouted_. “Are you ‘women only’ too?”

_Too?_ Rilienus wasn’t sure who else the man meant, but he shook his head. “No, I have bedded men as well as women and enjoy both. Even so…” At that point, he spotted Lord Dorian approaching from the direction of the keep. “Ah. If you will excuse me, Inquisitor.”

Lord Dorian smiled in his usual pleasant, bland way, but his eyes skipped back over Rilienus’ shoulder to the Inquisitor. “Ah, my friend. The rope-making goes well?”

“It does.”

“I came to fetch you for the midday meal, if you would like to join me.”

“Thank you, I will.”

Lord Dorian turned, placing one hand between Rilienus’ shoulder blades to guide him—a subtle yet unnecessary gesture, he noted. At the same time, he waved. “Welcome back, Adaar! See you in the tavern, yes?” Then he guided them both away, perhaps a little quickly.

“I see you met the Inquisitor,” Lord Dorian began in a lower voice. The tone was carefully neutral. In Rilienus’ experience, that generally meant concern. He smiled.

“I did. He is exactly as you described. A very amusing man.”

Lord Dorian seemed as though there was more he wanted to ask, but he conceded the point and let it go. “Quite. We’re all vastly entertained here at Skyhold, as we battle the forces of evil.” A brief sigh. “Come. We take midday meals in the keep—it is casual now, but the evening meal will be more formal. The dignitaries and guests will all be there, as well as the more important members of the Inquisition. Everyone else mostly eats in the tavern for the evening meal. That is where I will be, unless the lady ambassador requests otherwise.”

Rilienus allowed himself to be led, yet he remained aware of a large shadow keeping them in sight—a particularly massive chastened puppy.


	9. Skyhold Agents versus the Inquisitor’s Empty Head

“Ah, my handsome chevalier! Come stand beside this planter of dawn lotus, I beg you! You are even fairer than the lotus’ petals, ser!”

Michel sighed and turned toward the Inquisitor, who was picking embrium and elfroot. “You flatter me as always, my lord Inquisitor.”

“How can I not?” A grin and a shrug. “I must approach such a fine chevalier with my courtliest of manners. You deserve no less!”

“I wonder that you continue to approach, Inquisitor, when I have already declined.”

“Just in case you change your mind,” the man cheerfully explained. “You can challenge me to a duel if you’re offended. That would be hot, too.”

“I hardly think it necessary to—”

“Oh, Inquisitor!”

They both looked up, to the rare sight of Ambassador Montilyet entering the garden. She saw them talking and bowed. “Forgive me, Ser de Chevin. Inquisitor, I meant to give you this letter when we spoke…”

The beautiful woman came forward, offering a paper, which the Inquisitor took. She pointed a few things out as he listened. Michel tried not to stare, but his heart was a violent thing, beating loud in his chest. The sunlight upon her black, curling locks of hair, the liveliness of her expressions…

“All right, I’ll take care of it. Going to reward me with a kiss this time, Josie?”

She smiled politely, and utterly ignored him. “Thank you.” Then she turned to Michel again, with another small bow. “Please excuse the interruption. Good day.”

He bowed quickly in return. “It is…no trouble…that is…” Looking up, she was already vanishing back into the keep. “…Good day,” he sighed.

“…Uh- _huh!_ ”

Michel glanced over at the Inquisitor—eyes wide and alight with amusement.

“So _that’s_ why you won’t sleep with me!”

“I swear to you, Ser, you are mistaken, and—”

“Fine, fine!” Waving hands, and still that grin. “I’ll leave it alone. You ever want me to put in a good word for you, though, just say it.” He winked. “You two would look stunning together.” Then he blinked. “Oh, your kids would be _gorgeous!_ ”

Michel de Chevin’s complexion had the unfortunate drawback of showing blushes very easily.

He bowed and fled.

\--

Crassius Servis knew bloody well when the Inquisitor passed his judgement and ordered him to become a smuggler for the Inquisition that there was going to be more to this deal than what was said in front of all those gathered in the hall. The qunari’s eyes said it quite plainly—at least, to anyone from Tevinter, the man was an open book. Not that Servis minded, either. He’d put just a hint or two of his own into his voice and expression. This was his life on the line, after all. He’d offer anything he could to sweeten the deal and save his own ass.

Still, only when he was invited to the Inquisitor’s room and the man dropped his pants did Servis understand…

“Look, you don’t actually _have_ to do this, yeah?” The giant with the frankly impossible manhood was giving him a pitying look. “I mean, you’re a smuggler for us one way or the other, I wasn’t going to chop your head off for picking the wrong guy to deal for.”

Servis noted that, took into account the higher probability that it was sincere, given that he was in the South, and filed the detail. _Still couldn’t hurt to have stronger favor with the leader of the Inquisition…_ He looked up through his lashes. Men liked eyelashes. “Understood, my lord. Now then, if you will permit me…may I suck your cock?”

“Yeah!” Cheerfully. _What a carefree idiot._ He’d never survive in Tevinter.

So then—Servis could suck a cock. Bootlicking and cocksucking—he’d done it all. This cock was incredible, but Servis was good, and he didn’t really want the qunari getting any ideas about sticking that thing anywhere _else_ , so he gave him the best blowjob imaginable. And when the giant spilled a frankly astounding amount of seed, Servis thought about putting him in a traveling show…and then worked him up for another.

He was opening his throat for the monster when the Inquisitor sighed. “You’re great, you know? Maybe it’s a Tevinter thing. Is everyone from Tevinter just the best ever at sex?”

He pulled off to lick the shaft. “I thank you, my lord. We are certainly a passionate people, and we like to impress.”

A slow, sensual grin. “Passionate people, huh? You’re all so damn pretty, too. I think I like Vints. …In bed, I mean. Not Venatori.”

“I’m honored.” _And my jaw is getting sore._

“Glad you don’t mind I’m Vashoth,” he sighed. “Is that a bad thing? I mean, I’m not _Qunari_ qunari, but you Vints and the Qun go at each other a lot. Do Vints usually have a problem with us?”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean, like, even though I’m Vashoth, would a Vint look at me and think ‘horns equals not-fuckable’ or something like that?”

Servis sucked the head, tongue working a moment. Then, “I cannot speak for all, but I would think on the contrary. There’s a proliferation of explicit material featuring qunari. You might be a coveted fetish object, more likely.”

“Really?” The man perked up, beaming. Servis blinked. He’d thought that would be taken…differently. “You think Vints would think it’s kinky to fuck me?”

“Ah…possibly.” _Could you please climax soon?_

Another sigh, leaning back in bed. “Then why would one say no? I guess maybe if he doesn’t have that kink…” A giant hand rested on the back of Servis’ head and began guiding him up and down, so there wasn’t much chance to reply. “It isn’t that I’m male, and he’s not in love with anyone else…” A frown entered that voice. “I don’t think.” Silence for a minute as the Inquisitor continued to use Servis’ mouth. “I dunno…maybe…” he murmured.

With a little tug—fortunately it didn’t take much—Servis freed himself for some air. Then he moved down to suckle ridiculously huge qunari testicles. “Perhaps he is only playing hard to get,” he suggested. “We of the Imperium know we are the best in Thedas. We do not give ourselves easily, nor to the undeserving.”

“ _Mmmmmh_.” Servis licked his way back up the massive cock. “Maybe that’s it. I’ll have to figure it out. _Ahh, yeah…_ he’s so fucking pretty. Bet you he’s unbelievable when he’s naked… _nngh_ , bet I’d shoot so hard just looking at him.”

_All right, then…_ “So shut your eyes, my lord, and _look_ at him. Think of him here, now, between your legs…” He licked around the head. “His mouth on your cock, hungry for your seed…” He sucked the man back in, deep, drawing out loud moans. _That’s it—get there. Come on…_

Servis had to open his throat a few more times, but the Inquisitor finally shouted and came again—still a _lot_ , the man would bring a fortune as an entertainer in a traveling show. A private tent set up for a select few, a closed performance… _Maybe it’s a racial trait. I’ll have to check other qunari…_

“Yeah…that’s it beautiful…fuck…” Eyes still shut, whispering.

_It would be a hit in Orlais. Not in a tent, there—make it a salon. Just need to get the right mask…set it up like high art. Aesthetic orgasms…this could be great._

__A heavy, contented sigh, then a big grin. “Hey…thanks for your _Servis._ ”

_I do not believe this._

__


	10. Rylen versus The Slut and a Really Bad Crush

Griffon Wing Keep was a fine fortress, and Knight-Captain Rylen was honored to have the run of it. The Inquisitor did good work, kicking those Venatori bastards out. Macrinus’ blood was still all over the stone—water was in short supply for now, so they weren’t sparing any for washing up. The sand would blast the stone clean sooner or later. They had darkspawn in the area to worry about, not to mention setting up the tradesfolk and turning the keep into an Inquisition base.

Many of them also had an Inquisitor to fend off in the process.

“Soooo…you’re from Starkhaven?”

“Aye, Inquisitor. I served with the Templars, until they all ran off, barking at the moon.”

“Ooh, Chantry boy, eh? Cullen says some of you Templars take chastity vows?”

“ _Some_ do, yes.” And, just because he’d been around Skyhold long enough to know what was coming next: “Not I, however.”

“Right…” Slow grin—a famous expression by now. There were a number of soldiers who did impressions in the barracks. “So…still pretty religious, though?”

“Sacred duty is all well and good, but if the barracks are on fire, I’m going for water. Can’t ask Andraste to handle _everything_.”

The qunari laughed aloud. “Nope, we can’t! That’s what she picked a Herald for, _apparently_.”

“Sorry to trouble you—” He began, but was cut off by a heavy slap on the back.

“Ah, not you, my strapping fellow. This place is coming along just fine. You’re a great help, and a sight for sore eyes. And your accent is sexy as fuck. Wanna spend the night with me?”

Rylen didn’t miss a beat. He’d been expecting this. “I’m honored, Inquisitor, but I’d rather not.”

“Aww. Oh well. Carry on, soldier!”

“Aye, ser!”

The qunari turned, and broke into another grin. “Harding! Hey hey, little lady, I’m _hardening_ for you already!”

Rylen’s stomach flipped over. His spine straightened unconsciously into perfect military form.

“That’s great, Your Worship. Scouts are in from Echoback Canyon if you’d like a report.” The dwarven woman joined them, nodding briefly to Rylen before turning to the Inquisitor. “I’ve got good news and bad news. The good news is—no giants.”

The Inquisitor chortled. “Right…except the one in my pants.”

“Yeah, I know. Ready for the bad news?”

Rylen forced himself to draw breath. “Ah, um…I mean, eh, if you’ll excuse me…” He bowed slightly, eyes firmly on the ground, and turned and made his escape.

Not far, alas, because someone was waiting to speak to him about something, and Rylen tried to pay attention and answer without stammering, but his ears had a hard time hearing the soldier. All he could focus on were the snippets of conversation between the Inquisitor and Scout Harding, and _Wait! Why does she know anything about what’s in his pants?!_

__Rylen immediately chastised himself, almost going so far as to slap his own head—though that would have been very bad, as he was wearing a helmet, and the soldier still talking to him would have been surprised. _Idiot. Damn near everyone in Skyhold has seen it by now. And she’s in Skyhold to restock often enough, and it’s none of your bloody business, and of course you’re no match for the Inquisitor! Barmy fool._

__He absently grunted a half-reply at the bewildered soldier talking to him, who went away wondering if he was supposed to know what that meant, then Rylen drifted a little out of sight, but kept Scout Harding in view. By their expressions, the Inquisitor was less interested in her report than in warmly complimenting her and making advances, and Rylen bit his lip and wondered very, very hard if her half-smile meant she was enjoying the attention or putting him off nicely. He couldn’t hear exactly what she was saying, but…

_She’s a bonnie little lass…_

Bloody incredible with a bow, too, and nimble. Whip-smart and ’feared of nothin’. Rylen slunk a little further out of sight, peeping like a babe around the corner of a wall as their giant leader laughed aloud and finally moved off, waving at Harding. Rylen bit his lip and tried to tell himself it didn’t matter what they’d been talking of.

“Knight-Captain!” Another soldier—quite suddenly.

“Wah!”

Rylen didn’t fall on his arse, exactly. But he hit his helmet on the wall. His ears rang for an hour.


	11. Dorian versus The Slut’s Desire

“Hey, my sexiest researcher! I’d like to _book_ a night with you!”

Dorian glanced up and smiled. “Inquisitor. To what to I owe the honor?”

The giant flopped into a chair that Dorian had specifically chosen for this location because it was the sturdiest he could find, and Adaar still did not seem to care much if the chair he sat in could hold him or not. So far, this one creaked a lot, but it hadn’t broken yet.

“Aww, can’t I stop by just to look at you?”

“You may as far as I’m concerned, but if I were you I would be hesitant to keep Leliana waiting.”

Adaar made a face. “You and Bull are creepy. You don’t do your creepy mind-reading on each other when you’re fucking, do you?”

Dorian was about to say that there was nothing so very creepy about it—he’d seen the Inquisitor reach the top of the stairs and start to make a turn toward the stairs up to Leliana before he changed his mind and came over here—but Adaar continued before he could. “So anyway, you keeping Rilienus all to yourself too?”

That was…less expected. “I beg your pardon, ‘too’? And why would I be ‘keeping’ him?”

“He won’t fuck me!”

Adaar’s despair was the result of quite a few thwarted attempts at this point. Dorian had heard him invite Rilienus over and over, always given a polite refusal. Lately, when Dorian had time, he had taken to spending it in the courtyard, or wherever Rilienus was. He’d bring an interesting book and read aloud—a favor, requested and immediately granted. They still shared Dorian’s room, as well, and he would read to Rilienus there, too—when he was not engaged elsewhere for the evening. It wasn’t that Rilienus couldn’t read, either, for he did read by himself when Dorian was…above the tavern. It was simply something they both enjoyed; why not enjoy it together?

And if reading in the courtyard gave Dorian the chance to make sure the Inquisitor wasn’t hanging about, being too forward? Well.

“Not _everyone_ wishes to have sex with you, Inquisitor. I thought you understood this.”

“Yeah, but they have _reasons._ They don’t want a male, or they’re taken. I get that. He said males are fine with him, so all I can figure is he’s taken—by _you_. But _you_ already have the Bull, and now he won’t fuck me anymore either, so seriously—how many people you going to keep all to yourself?”

_The Bull doesn’t…?_ Noted. That was…noted. In truth, Dorian had suspected. There were no longer occasions when the Bull was absent when Dorian went looking for him. But they had never said anything about being exclusive, so if the Bull was turning Adaar down, it was…voluntary.

_Focus._ “My friend, I have not tried to keep anyone away from you. But perhaps you should leave Rilienus alone. You know he was a slave in Tevinter. Let him enjoy his freedom.”

“I’m trying to let him enjoy his freedom! That’s exactly what I want—for him to _enjoy_ his freedom!”

He sighed. Lowered his voice. “Adaar, I’ll tell you something else—but you must keep this to yourself.” The giant leaned in, nodding. “Rilienus was not just any slave. He was purchased specifically for sex.” _For me_ , he didn’t say. _Leave that out._ “Body slaves are used whether they like it or not. There is no freedom to consent or deny. Perhaps, then, you should treat him with a little consideration. He has only recently regained the freedom to say no.”

Adaar’s face fell at that—the man could indeed understand _some_ things as serious. Dorian left out the part where Rilienus probably had never actually been put to use as a body slave. _Dorian_ certainly had not touched him, and in the time since he left, Rilienus had apparently remained with his father and mother, and if either of _them_ decided to use him that way, Dorian would be…very much surprised.

Still. Even being in a position where one had no hope of consent must surely matter, even if it was never abused.

“All right,” Adaar sighed. “I guess I can…try.”

He wore his Sad Puppy Face up to see Leliana.

\--

Cole appeared on the battlements. The Inquisitor was leaning on stone, gazing longingly down into the courtyard. He glanced over at Cole. “Hey, Creepy.”

“ _Rilienus_.”

“Yeah. _Skin tan like fine whiskey, cheekbones shaded, lips curl when he smiles._ Accurate as fuck, you weirdo demon. Wanna tell me if there’s _anything_ he ‘would have said yes’ to?”

Cole stared down at the object of the Inquisitor’s pain for a long moment. Then: “I don’t know. There isn’t any hurt this time. Not in him.”

“I guess that’s good. For him.” The Inquisitor sighed. “Fuck off then, yeah? Go appear out of nowhere and scare the shit out of Sera, I still owe her for the salt in the sugar dish.”

Cole wasn’t sure what any of that meant, but he vanished and appeared outside the window of Sera’s alcove, as requested.

There was a shout, and a shattering of glass as something flew out the window at the figure who had already vanished. Adaar grinned, feeling much better.


	12. Iron Bull versus Feelings, What The Shit

“Going back to your room?”

Dorian stood from the bed— _damn, that ass_ —and nodded. “I’ll leave you to change your sheets. Or not—just as you like, as long as I don’t have to sleep in the mess.”

“I wouldn’t make you sleep in a messy bed, Dorian.”

“Even so.” The Vint grabbed a cloth and started to wipe himself off. Bull hid his grin. No amount of sponge-bathing would get rid of his scent. Then again, the guy Dorian shared his room with wasn’t qunari, so he probably wouldn’t pick up on most of what Bull had left on Dorian’s skin. Other races just smelled a general sweaty-been-fucking odor, as he understood it—not the subtle markers of who, and how, and a bit of the intent hidden underneath.

No, all that would be lost on Rilienus. Not that Bull failed to notice the constant presence of Rilienus’ scent on Dorian—but that couldn’t be helped; they were sharing a room. He could tell, even, that it wasn’t sexual. They hadn’t fucked, at least not when Bull was in Skyhold and would have picked up on it—which admittedly wasn’t all the time, so maybe they _had_ fucked after all. Still. It was jarring, lately, because every time he went to get a deep inhale of Dorian’s scent, there was this other guy mixed in there. Not upsetting, exactly—but not really wanted, either.

Dorian had gotten to his nethers, and it looked like he felt a little bitching was in order tonight. “Honestly, you foul brute, _must_ you spend yourself inside me every time? You have the absolute _worst_ manners imaginable, I hope you know.”

Bull blinked innocently. “You want me to pull out? I can do that, if you insist. But then your eyelids won’t do that fluttery thing they do when you feel me shooting inside you.”

Dorian froze, and Bull was sorry he was turned away. Seeing Dorian’s face right now would probably be really funny. After a moment that was just a beat too long: “You’re reading into things.” Then, in a grumble, “Presumptuous qunari. You and Adaar, Maker spare me.”

His ears perked up, but Bull kept his tone light. “Adaar? What’s he doing now?”

Slipping into his smalls, Dorian huffed. “He’s under the odd impression that I’m trying to keep Rilienus away from him, have him all to myself, or some such nonsense.”

Bull cocked his head. “Well, you sort of are.”

At that, Dorian turned around, offended face in full swing. “You too? I most certainly am not!”

“I don’t mean keeping him for yourself,” Bull clarified, sitting up. “But getting in Adaar’s way? Yeah, you are.”

Dorian pulled his trousers on, face calmly aloof, but hands moving quick and jerky. “I do not _get in his way_. I spend time with my friend, nothing more.”

“All right. Guess you just really know how to pick your moment. You always seem to be keeping him company when Adaar shows up to hit on him.”

With perfect poise and a regal glare, Dorian reached for his shirt. “It’s not as if my presence actually prevents him from flirting. Rilienus has turned him down a dozen times already, and I’m sure he would whether I was there or not. So I hardly think it matters.”

“Just keeping an eye on them, huh?”

A flicker of something, then. A bit more honesty in the next reply: “Rilienus is…a very special friend. Adaar can come on rather strong. I don’t want Rilienus to feel…pressured.”

_‘A very special friend.’_ Again, his stomach—and he hadn’t eaten anything since dinner, and dinner had been _fine_. Bull ignored it. “You know, from what I can see, that little Vint can handle it. He turns Adaar down, yeah, but I’ve never seen him look upset about it. Matter of fact, he looks like he thinks it’s funny.” Bull shrugged, picking up a cloth of his own and beginning to wipe off. “Just saying. Maybe let your friend take care of himself.” Bull checked Dorian’s face, quick—too quick to be noticed. “Unless you think maybe you _would_ rather he be yours.”

Dorian’s face changed. The look of contemplation that had been starting to develop just vanished, wiped away by blank. “You believe I monopolize him because I secretly want him for a lover?”

Bull stayed neutral, though he could hear in Dorian’s voice that this wasn’t a welcome subject. “Didn’t say I think that. Just said it’s a possible way to look at all this. If I’m wrong—sorry. But if you _do_ want him, I’m good with that. You don’t owe me anything.”

“I see.” Dorian’s voice was soft—not a nice kind of soft. Softness like being strangled with a silk scarf, like poisoned candies—softness that was scary. Bull had stepped in something, he just wasn’t sure _what_. Dorian was pulling on his robes faster, now. “I’m glad to know how you feel. I’ll be sure to inform you the moment I no longer have a use for you as a placeholder to keep me satisfied until I’m ready to move on to my _real_ lover, yes?”

“Uh…”

“Don’t get up, please, I’ll see myself out. Good night, Iron Bull.”

Then Dorian was gone, robes not even properly fastened up all the way, loose buckles still clicking about him.

Bull lay back, slowly, and started running all that through his mind.

“My _real_ lover” he’d said, something so tight in his voice it hurt just to hear it.

_What the shit does that mean?_


	13. Blackwall and Adan versus Giving Up Too Easily

“Warden Blackwall.”

Blackwall turned to see that chevalier, de Chevin, at the door of the stables, bowing slightly. He returned the gesture, a little curious. “Ser de Chevin, an honor. Is there…something I can help you with?”

Michel stepped into the shadowy barn. “There is. I have a matter I wish to discuss with you, as one man to another. If you do not mind?”

Even more curious. “No, I don’t mind. What’s troubling you?”

Blue eyes met his directly. “I understand from…various sources, that you may be the man responsible for sending flowers to Ambassador Montilyet.”

_Ah._ Blackwall’s first instinct was usually to sigh when someone brought this up, but when a man met his eyes and asked him seriously, that was the last response on his mind. Instead, he answered in kind—directly. “I am. Is that a problem?”

Michel slightly shook his head. “Forgive me for the personal question, but may I be so bold as to ask after your intentions toward the lady?”

“Heh.” Blackwall shrugged. “I intend to convey some of the admiration which is her due. Further than that, I suppose nothing. I’m a common man, and I know that. She’s not for the likes of me.”

Michel nodded seriously. “I appreciate your forthright answer, Ser, and I honor your respect to the lady. Allow me to be as frank. I share your admiration, and it is my intention to court Lady Montilyet, if she will have me. However, I did not wish to tread upon a prior claim.”

_I see_. “No claim,” Blackwall sighed a little. “Just my one-sided affection, I assure you. I’ll not stand in your way.”

Michel bowed deeply. “I am most obliged to you, Warden Blackwall.”

He grunted. “I appreciate you coming to me about it. You’re a much better match for her, anyway. I wish you luck.”

“Thank you, Ser.” There was a sincerity in those blue eyes, too. Blackwall thought, as Michel left, that maybe there were a few nobles in the world who were honorable and worthy of respect.

“Aww, shame, innit?” Blackwall jumped back as Sera suddenly landed in front of him. “Letting that blondie take your pretty squeeze?”

“Maker, Sera…” he sighed. “Leave it be, I beg you.”

“Sure. Tavern tonight, yeah?”

“…All right.”

\--

Scout Harding was in Skyhold, with a grand view of all sorts of goings-on. She saw Sera come running from the keep toward the tavern, then a few minutes later, Sera reappeared with Flissa in tow. Flissa, all giggles, followed her back to the keep.

Then Adan appeared—standing about, pretending he wasn’t doing anything. And he proceeded to stand about for twenty minutes before he started trying to look busy by exchanging a few words with whomever was about.

Adan being Adan, most people weren’t used to him starting a conversation with them. He had a lot of short chats, with odd looks at his back as he walked away.

When it looked like his meandering was bringing him over to Harding next, she cut right to the chase. “Hey there, Adan!”

“Oh, um…Scout Harding, right?”

“Yeah. Flissa’s in the keep with Sera. Probably Dagna too.”

The man straightened up, looking caught. “I, ah, hadn’t asked…”

“Nope. Sorry. Scout, you know—sharp eyes, good with details.”

“Right.” Adan deflated a little.

“Hang around a while. She’ll be back when they’re done.”

Shifting weight from one foot to another. “Maybe I shouldn’t. If she prefers…female company, I really ought to just—”

“Yeah, you _really_ ought to just tell her how you feel.”

“What! I, ah…”

“And you _really_ ought to stick around a while. When she comes back, she’ll be all warmed up and nowhere near done. I talk to the other scouts; they know.”

“I…can’t, I should really get back to my…work…”

For at least half an hour, Adan kept repeating that every few minutes, as he continued to hang around. Harding just smiled and every time answered, “Give it a little longer.”

When Flissa finally reappeared and started heading back toward the tavern, Adan straightened up nervously. “This isn’t a good idea. I should go. I should really…

“Oh, hello! Adan, Harding.” Flissa approached with a big smile, flushed cheeks—a little sheen of sweat still drying along her hairline.

Harding smiled. “How are you today, Flissa?”

“ _Very_ well, thank you.” She giggled, turning to Adan. “And how are _you_ , ser? I haven’t spoken to you in quite some time.”

“I’ve, ah…been quite busy, and…” Adan cleared his throat. “You seem…well?”

Flissa shifted closer, every inch of her relaxed, her smile warm. “I’m well, but I could be better, ser.”

“Could you? Ah…” More throat-clearing.

“Perhaps…if I could steal you from Scout Harding for a little while…?”

Adan was already flushed—he turned beet-red at that, though. “Oh, go right ahead. I don’t need him for anything.”

A pretty smile. “Adan?”

Throat-clearing. “Ah, yes, certainly, I…” And more of it. “I’d be delighted.”

Scout Harding smiled as Flissa escorted Adan into the tavern, heading upstairs right away. Neither of them reappeared before nightfall—possibly longer. Harding left and didn’t see either of them until the next day.

Adan was walking around Skyhold, beaming.

Three people walked into walls after doing a double-take, and one fellow ran his cart into the training ring on accident, and another almost fell off the edge of the stairs to the keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just FYI, this will be probably be my last fanfic for Dragon Age (and last thing posted on AO3) so hope y'all have fun with the last week of updates!
> 
> Just thought I should let y'all know in advance, didn't want to bum anyone out on the last chapter.


	14. Rilienus versus The Cock

Quite to his surprise, Rilienus returned to his shared chamber after night had fallen to find it occupied for once. Not to say Lord Dorian slept with the qunari _every_ night, but if he wasn’t doing that he was in the tavern, and if he wasn’t in the tavern he was buried in research. Rilienus was usually the first one back, because rope-making was best done in daylight, and not an important enough task to expend candles on.

“Retiring early?” he asked, as Lord Dorian looked up from a book.

“Well.” He shrugged. “We’re leaving for the Cradle of Sulevin tomorrow morning. I suppose I might as well rest up.”

Rilienus moved to the bucket and washbasin, stripping out of his dusty work clothes. “It is good to see you taking care of your health,” he bit down on the _my lord_ and replaced it with, “Ser.” He wet a cloth and washed even more dust from his skin.

A heavy sigh was Lord Dorian’s only answer, before he changed the subject. “And how was your day?”

Rilienus smiled. “Despite my simple work, I held an audience captive.” He glanced over at Lord Dorian as he toweled off. “An audience of only one, but even that should be noteworthy when a man is only braiding rope.”

The book snapped shut. “Did he bother you?”

He shook his head. “He shadowed me, or watched me from a distance for much of the day.” Rilienus began to dress himself again, in clean clothes. “It was no bother, I assure you.”

Lord Dorian hesitated, then noted the clothing. “Are you going to the tavern?”

Lacing up his trousers, Rilienus grinned. “A rather odd boy appeared to me a short while ago, as if from thin air.”

“Cole.”

“So he said. He also told me that someone was feeling sad and alone at the top of the tower, and I had it in my power to help.”

Straightening up, Lord Dorian blinked. “You’re going to see _him?_ But you’ve always turned him down!”

Rilienus pulled on a loose shirt. “The invitation is still good, though, I should think.”

“With _him_ , the invitation is _always_ good,” Lord Dorian agreed. “But I don’t understand.”

“May I borrow some of this?” Rilienus touched a vial of oil Lord Dorian used on his hair.

“Of course, but…”

“Thank you.” He took some, rubbed his hands together, and raked fingers through his unruly curls. Then, smiling again: “I have not had sex in a very long while. I think I’d like to, tonight. If you do not object?”

Rapid blinking. “Of course not, if that is your wish. I would never attempt to dictate such things for you. I simply…did not realize you had any interest in him.”

“Why not?” Rilienus shrugged. “He’s terribly funny.” Then he leaned a little on the footboard of Lord Dorian’s bed. “What of your qunari? When you first went to bed with him, did you care as much for him as you do now?”

“ _Care_ for him? I beg your pardon I—” Lord Dorian stopped abruptly. Did not move for a moment. Then, more subdued: “To him, whether I want him or someone else is all the same. Why should I care when he does not.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t.” Rilienus tilted his head, seeking Lord Dorian’s eyes. “But you do. I could see it from the first.”

Lord Dorian looked at him, baffled and aware at the same time. Rilienus smiled. “Think about it. When I return, if you wish to discuss it, I would be happy to.”

With that, he left the chamber and crossed through the castle to the Inquisitor’s tower. All was quiet when he knocked on the Inquisitor’s door.

“Yeah, come in!” The call was muffled, but Rilienus tried the door and found it unlocked. He climbed the stairs to find Inquisitor Adaar slumped in his desk like a surly child refusing lessons. There were stacks of crates in every corner of the room. It was an odd mix of lush, opulent drapes and carpet, a gaudy, massive bed, and the contents of a crowded storeroom.

Adaar looked up, saw him, and straightened so fast he nearly broke the chair he sat upon. “Rilienus…” he breathed.

Any man who couldn’t smile at hearing his own name in such a reverent tone was surely no longer living.

“I have come to have sex with you,” he announced, causing an immediate dropped jaw, “if you still wish to.”

The Inquisitor knocked over everything in his vicinity getting to his feet. “ _Yes._ Yes I do.”

He approached, and Rilienus calmly stood his ground. “You may strip, then,” he said, lightly.

Adaar did so, without comment, but with impressive speed. Clothes went flying.

Naked, he reached toward Rilienus, but stopped at the touch of fingers against his torso. This time, when Rilienus spoke, his voice was lower. Firmer. “You may _kneel_.”

A look of confusion flashed over Adaar’s face, but he did so without hesitation. “Very good.” Rilienus studied him. Adaar had to look up at him now—only a little, but it was enough. The man was thick with muscle everywhere, and the rumors about his cock had, surprisingly, not been exaggerated. It was rising already, thickening, pulsing with interest. Calmly, Rilienus touched one horn, then trailed his hand over the graceful, swept-back arc of it. “Take hold of yourself,” he murmured.

Adaar did, a purplish flush on his grey cheeks.

“You obey well enough,” Rilienus observed.

“Whatever you want, beautiful. I’m serious. I want this so bad.”

Arching an eyebrow, he studied the Inquisitor’s girth. “Well, you may be unhappy to hear this, but I promise you right now that _that_ ,” he lifted a foot to brush the underside of the shaft, “is not going inside my body. Not tonight, and probably not ever. Understood?”

“Okay…” Adaar’s face had fallen. His Sad Puppy Look again.

Rilienus gentled, still petting his horn. “You simply can’t. You are too large. You would do serious damage to me if you tried it, and no amount of preparation would make it enjoyable for me.”

“But we can still have sex?” Hopeful, almost pleading.

“Mmm.” Rilienus leaned down, drawing the man’s face close. Breathed, “I will fuck you. When you have _earned_ such a delight.”

Adaar moaned, his head tilted, lips parted—begging, hungry.

Rilienus suddenly gripped the horn tight and bent the man’s head back as he leaned down and claimed his mouth.

\--

It was very late when Rilienus returned to the room he shared with Lord Dorian, but candlelight still showed under the door. Stepping inside, however, he found Lord Dorian asleep, a book on his chest, a candle wasted, burnt down to almost nothing. Smiling, he took the book and pulled a blanket over his former master instead.

“ _Mmmh…_ ” Mumbling in his sleep, something that might have been Rilienus’ name. “… _Rather love you. Wish_ …”

Rilienus snuffed the candle, his eyes quickly adjusting to what would be pitch blackness for a human. Lord Dorian sighed. “Bull…”


	15. Iron Bull versus Pornographic Storytime

They rode out of Skyhold early, and Bull knew first.

Adaar had the same scent on him that had been getting mixed in with Dorian’s lately—Rilienus. But on Adaar, it was sharper, thicker…and the man couldn’t quite sit in the saddle properly. He winced and he shifted and made his horse nervous.

Bull wasn’t surprised, but everyone else would be. As far as he knew, no one else in Skyhold had topped Adaar. The Inquisitor was also in a ridiculously happy mood—and coming from a carefree idiot like him, that was saying something.

Only one thing seemed to penetrate his bliss, and that was when he said, in a pining kind of voice, “I was hoping Rilienus would see us off today…”

Not—I was hoping to _see_ Rilienus before we left. _Hmmm._ So Adaar wanted sweet, and _intentional_ , farewells after one night with the elf. That was…new.

“He was still asleep when I left this morning,” Dorian replied, his voice light in that deceptive way that made it sound like he had no feelings on the subject. “I thought I’d let him sleep in.”

So Dorian knew, too. No surprises there, he was rooming with the elf. He didn’t seem particularly pleased, either. Bull couldn’t help but wonder— _jealousy, maybe?_

__“Awww,” Adaar tried to twist in the saddle to look at Dorian and immediately stopped and returned to his previous position. Still, the grin remained. “Worried I wore out your pretty friend? Well, worry not!” With delight, with pride, with gusto he declared aloud to the mountains and all within earshot, “I’m the worn-out one today!”

Dorian blinked, but covered his surprise well. “You certainly don’t _seem_ worn out…”

“Sweetheart, I’m _aching!_ He rode me harder than a…than a…well, shit!” He laughed. “He fucked my brains out!”

“Perhaps they were not lodged in your head securely,” Solas murmured.

“Or he hadn’t many to begin with,” Dorian added.

“ _Or,_ ” Adaar cheerfully cut in, “a glorious little elf from Tevinter threw me down and fucked me so good I forgot my name and how to breathe and you guys,” he suddenly quieted, but with the buzzing energy of a powerful secret to be revealed, “I came _four times_.”

A moment of silence as the group tried not to take that in. Then: “…You’re going to tell us all about it, aren’t you?” Bull ventured.

Breathlessly, Adaar continued, having apparently not heard him. “He teased me out of my mind, first. _Fuck_ , I don’t know how I survived it, and he kept his clothes on almost the whole time, and I felt like this…this little sex toy, just a thing to amuse him if he felt like it. _No_ idea why, but it was _fucking hot_. Then he finally let me suck his cock, and shit—I’ve never gotten off just from sucking cock before, but with him…oh _man_. I was dying for him to come all over my face, but he wouldn’t—he made me get on my knees on the bed and then he played with my ass until I lost it again. And _then_ he took me, and he fucked me through another orgasm and stayed inside me and got me up again—I have no fucking clue _how_ —and I thought I was way past my limit but he just kept _pushing_ , taking me farther, and I could not even fucking speak or _think_ by the end.” A heavy sigh. “Best night of my _life_.”

“Delightful,” Dorian deadpanned. “I might remind you that this is my friend you’re talking about, and I would prefer not to hear about his sexual activities in such detail.”

“Why not?” Adaar seemed truly mystified.

“Because he’s like a brother to me!”

_Oh really?_ That was good information, if it was true. It could just as well be a lie, though. Or it could be a lie Dorian still _believed_ was true. Bull filed it.

“So?” Adaar shrugged.

Slowly, as though to a dunce, Dorian answered, “Few people want to know about their family members’ sexual exploits. It’s _horrifying_. Like seeing your parents having sex.”

“What’s so bad about that?”

Dorian stared blankly. Bull shrugged. He didn’t have “parents” like non-Qunari did, and tamassrans handled sex and children—separately. Bull never went to his own Tama for _that_ , after he matured, but it was just something you _knew_ about tamas, growing up. You sort of gradually came to understand what it meant as you reached maturity.

Solas didn’t seem to have a comment either. Eventually, it was up to Dorian to gather himself enough to answer. “You don’t think it’s unpleasant to see your parents having sex?”

“I dunno,” Adaar shrugged. “It’s not like you _watch_. It just happens sometimes, living in close quarters. You know they fucked, anyway, or there wouldn’t be any _you_.”

“Sometimes I’m not so sure,” Dorian mumbled.

“Okay, then, where’d you come from?”

“I prefer not to think about it.” Dorian looked a little ill. “My parents had separate bedrooms, in different wings of the house. I have never even seen them _touch_ each other, let alone something like _that_.”

“Huh.” Adaar glanced over at Bull. “Vints really are weird about this shit, huh?”

Adaar, of course, knew Bull was still sleeping with Dorian. He probably did _not_ know how their last conversation had gone, and with his head in the clouds like it was right now, he definitely had not noticed that—despite all the banter and conversation so far—Dorian had not spoken directly to Bull yet today. Bull would call this a “Tevinter cold shoulder”—snubbing, but doing it so subtly that it might not even be noticed. Except by Bull, who had been getting oddly used to those grey eyes meeting his own—whether challenging or flirting, questioning or seducing. He _felt_ the absence and knew what it meant, he just hadn’t quite worked out what he’d said wrong, yet.

Under these circumstances, though, he didn’t want to engage Adaar’s question in a way that would imply any comment on Dorian. So instead, he deflected. “Look what you got yourself into,” he grinned. Adaar just beamed.

“Nah. ‘Look _who_ I got into _me_ ,’ more like.”

“ _Vishante kaffas_ , don’t start again,” Dorian moaned.

“…And I got him into me _pretty deep_ , let me tell you. He’s not a little man, for being such a…little guy.” Adaar shook his head. “Or whatever. You know what I mean?”

Solas finally spoke again, with a faint smile. “I think no one is in doubt of your meaning, Inquisitor. Perhaps we should discuss the mission instead?”

“ _Please!_ ”

Adaar stuck out his tongue. “The Cradle of Sulevin has a sword in it somewhere. _Yippy_. I wanna go home and get _somebody’s_ pretty little ‘sword’ back in _me_ …”

“Maker help me, I have a staff blade,” Dorian cut him off, “and if you’re so eager to be penetrated, I’ll happily stab you with it if you don’t stop.”


	16. Adaar versus FISH!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a silly side story, written and inserted later when I came across this in the game and it was too weird to pass over. It has no relation to the rest of the story, and we must only hope that Rilienus' former trade never becomes the relationship-shattering source of drama Adaar's phobia would probably make of it.

In spite of Adaar’s obvious eagerness to get back to Skyhold, what started out as a short trip got quickly side-tracked.

After fetching the broken-up bits of the Sulevin Blade, they made their way back through the Emerald Graves and ended up discovering Din’an Hanin—and Taven, dead. Adaar had some choice words for the Red Templars as they cleaned out the tomb, and afterward, he decided that they would detour over to the Exalted Plains before returning to Skyhold. “It’s closer from here, and I don’t wanna just send them the news in a note.”

So they returned to the Dalish in the Exalted Plains, and Adaar handed over Taven’s discovery. Then, while they were there and “mucking about in sad stories,” they went to Var Bellanaris to kill some demons.

And outside Var Bellanaris, they found a dead fisherman.

“Maker’s _nutsack!_ What the _fuck!_ ”

Adaar crept closer, followed by his party, to find that, yes, that was a very large, dead fish, and that was a man—or most of one.

“It _ate_ his _head!_ ” Adaar gaped, grey skin suddenly ashen. He didn’t seem able to look away. “Oh…ohgross…”

“I don’t think things went the way either of them expected…” Dorian began, then stopped as Adaar rushed to the riverbank, bent over, and threw up.

The party exchanged surprised glances. “Uh, you okay, boss?”

Adaar turned back to them, still green, and held up a hand to block the sight of the dead man and the giant fish. That didn’t seem to help, however, as there were caught fish strung up around the little campsite, and he kept flinching and retching. “Ugh! Ugh! Oh yuck, _yuck!_ Oh-I-hate-fish, Maker’s-nutsack-let’s-go!”

He didn’t even loot the chest left in the fisherman’s boat.

The rest of their journey, he kept shuddering at intervals. “Ugh, it was _huge!_ ” “Ugh, I can’t fucking believe it ate his head.” And, “ _Ugh. Fish!_ ”

\--

Dorian told Sera the story almost a month later. She made a face; then, upon further reflection: “Huh. Thought it was funny he didn’t wanna have a look in that hut.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She stuck her tongue out. “In Crestwood, yeah? Big round fishy-smelling place. Looked like a fisherman’s hut. Didn’t go near it, though. Checked through every _other_ house and looted the whole flooded village, but stayed far off from that one.

“Hm.” Dorian considered this. “So the Inquisitor is oddly paranoid about fish.”

Sera nodded, and they sat a while, considering that. Then, she grinned. “Know what we should do?”

\--

Dorian was crouched in the dark beside Adaar's gaudy, oversized bed, holding a shuttered lantern. His job was to open the slats to shine a beam of light on the focal object at the right moment.

“ _Claaaaarence! Claaaaareeeeeence!_ ”

He opened the lantern, hearing the Inquisitor stir in his tacky bed, but he couldn’t see most of the room in the dark. Just Sera. In her…disguise.

“ _Clarence, we are coming for youuuuuu…_ ”

“Mmf. Nrghtsack?” His voice was muffled by pillows.

“ _Wake up, Clarence,_ ” the ghostly voice continued. “ _Wake up and face meeeee! I’m going to eat your heeeaad!_ ”

Dorian knew the moment the Inquisitor opened his eyes because the peaceful night was suddenly shattered by the highest, shrillest, longest scream he’d ever heard.

The apparition jumped, and Dorian almost dropped the lantern in surprise.

Then Sera was giggling, trying to stay quiet, and dragging him out of the room in the dark while the Inquisitor continued to scream bloody murder.

Sera, nimble elven girl, scrambled down the scaffolding to the main hall, leaving Dorian to hide behind a hanging drop cloth. Josephine and Cassandra rushed by in nightgowns, shouting questions. Cullen was a little behind, barefoot and shirtless and tripping on the stairs, unsheathed sword in hand. They vanished into the Inquisitor’s room, and Dorian didn’t stay to hear the story—he slipped out the door and through the main hall. Sera had vanished, but she’d left her disguise in the Inquisitor’s room.

In addition to knitting, Sera was quite handy at paper mache.

He heard later that the advisors discovered the giant fish head, and Adaar stole Cullen’s sword and beat it to shreds.

Sera was so in for it.


	17. Girls versus Boys In Love

With the amount of time she spent in the courtyard training, Cassandra had every opportunity to watch the Inquisitor mooning about, watching the young elf from Tevinter and pretending not to. He spent so much time leaning over the stone wall looking down into the lower courtyard that Cassandra eventually just walked over and dragged him to the War Room herself. She didn’t attend the meetings anymore, but she knew when they were supposed to be happening, and for the sake of all the advisors, she put her foot down on Adaar’s tardiness.

Adaar had never really given up on anyone, not even poor Commander Cullen, who had been painfully clear in his refusal. So Cassandra did not expect he would ever stop, but she did expect that if Dorian’s friend ever agreed to a night with the Inquisitor, Adaar’s interest would become much less obsessive. Instead, it changed shape. Word got around, things had been overheard between the two of them—they’d definitely been intimate. But Inquisitor Adaar continued to watch Rilienus, and follow him, and proposition him as much as before—perhaps even more.

In short, he was smitten.

It was a strange thing to see, but Cassandra did not mind in the least. The lewd comments directed her way gradually decreased. In her heart, she wondered if their irrepressible Inquisitor had finally found someone who could capture his scatterbrained attention. Her secret romantic side hoped so, but her inner pragmatist said it was unlikely.

He’d return to his old ways soon. People did not change so easily.

\--

Harding didn’t know _all_ of the people in Skyhold, but she was pretty close to it. She’d befriended Loranil when he joined Cullen’s soldiers as a recruit. It was about a week later that the Inquisitor returned from the Exalted Plains, at which point Loranil immediately went to bed with him—and then _remained_ in bed a full day after. When Harding saw him again, he was still limping.

“I don’t regret it one bit,” he said, leaning wearily against the tavern, “but I will never do _that_ again.”

Having already turned the Inquisitor down—again and again—Harding had her own ideas about size differences, and she was surprised Loranil had even gone for it. “Curiosity,” he explained. “I just couldn’t help it. At the moment, I sort of wish I was a woman. It still wouldn’t be _easy_ , but it might be a bit more practical. And Creators, it was incredible. Women are lucky.”

“Yeah…thanks, but no thanks,” she replied, which led into a discussion in which Loranil had to admit that a dwarven woman would probably have as much trouble as he had, and Maker, Stone, or Creators forbid a dwarven _man_ try it.

So Harding debated warning the Inquisitor’s newest favorite, but Loranil didn’t think it was necessary. “He’ll know. If nothing else, the minute he sees it, he’ll know. If he goes for it anyway…well, _I_ did too, so I can’t blame him.”

There wasn’t any talk around Skyhold about the Inquisitor taking different roles in bed, so when the rumors started up that he and the new elf had done it, she discredited them immediately because Rilienus hadn’t vanished for a day and was walking just fine.

Then she was taking a shortcut across the battlements one day and overheard the Inquisitor in the courtyard below.

“…every day and every night while I was gone. Come to my room tonight, _please_.”

“Hmm.” A studying glance, a half-smile. “No.”

The Sad Puppy arose in force. “ _Really?_ Are you _ever_ going to fuck me again?”

A shrug. “I do not know the future, my lord. But my answer, today, is _no_.”

A spark of hope—though it didn’t seem warranted. “Today? But not forever?”

“ _Today_ I’m saying no,” the elf nodded.

The Inquisitor seemed oddly delighted with this answer, and Harding had to admit that the rumors were apparently true. She also had her answer for why the elf hadn’t been crippled by the experience.

And Harding didn’t breathe a word of it.

\--

Maryden was strumming a quiet instrumental in the tavern. It was very late, and the rowdy crowds had slowly filtered away. Those left were quietly playing cards, engaged in private conversations, or falling asleep in their cups.

Or, they were the Inquisitor—head in hands, elbows on the table, dreamy eyes staring at the pretty Tevinter elf as he read aloud from what looked like a history book. Maryden had stopped singing when the elf had begun reading—not that it was loud enough that anyone more than a table away from them could hear it. But the music in a tavern was not the music of a grand stage, meant to draw all the attention. In a tavern, the task was to set a cheerful tone, or to soothe spirits, or to simply fade into the background when needed.

Not everyone liked Maryden’s songs, but she tried, and she knew when a little quiet strumming was all that was required.

The elf glanced up from the book. “Are you tired, my lord? You should retire.”

Horns swished back and forth as the Inquisitor shook his head—lucky that no one was passing nearby. “Nah. ’M not tired. Keep reading. You were at the start of the Blessed Age?”

Rilienus smiled and returned to the book.

A while later, another pause. “Are you following this, my lord?”

“Mm-hmm. Emperor Reville is invading Ferelden.” He suddenly straightened. “Hold that thought, let me get you some water.”

The Inquisitor brought water for both of them, which the elf seemed to appreciate after so much reading aloud.

Then, a while later, the elf stopped reading and closed the book.

The Inquisitor straightened. “What are you stopping for? You need more water?”

“Aren’t you tired, my lord?”

“Nope, I’m totally awake, see?” He grinned, widening his eyes comically and blinking them fast.

Rilienus smiled. “Nevertheless, I think it is time you went to bed.” Then, before the Inquisitor could whine, he leaned forward and touched fingers under the qunari’s chin. “Rather, I think it is time I _take_ you to bed.”

To Maryden’s poetically inclined point of view, it was as if the shining moons had settled in the Inquisitor’s eyes. Breathless hope and shock.

“You mean…?”

A slow smile. “Tonight, I’m saying _yes_.”

The Inquisitor’s rapturous happiness all but floated him out of the tavern, following the calm elf.

Maryden began composing her next song that very night.


	18. Rilienus versus A Heart-to-Heart

Rilienus returned to Lord Dorian’s room in the morning—after sleeping in the gaudy, opulent bed at the top of the tower, using a heavily muscled chest for a pillow. He found Lord Dorian awake, mostly dressed, and partway through styling his hair for the day. The man put the comb down when Rilienus entered, however.

“Welcome back,” he began, eyebrows high.

“Good morning, Ser,” Rilienus answered. Lord Dorian continued to watch him, waiting. Rilienus smiled as he pulled his boots off. “You are curious?”

“I suppose I don’t need to be,” Lord Dorian sighed. 

“I think not,” Rilienus agreed.

“Well.” Lord Dorian shot him another look. “I may still be somewhat…concerned, however.”

“Why concerned?” he asked, innocently.

“He—well, he’s a good sort, at heart. A decent friend. But his affairs are brief and his affection fleeting. I hope you know that.”

Gently, he answered, “I know his nature. I will not be disappointed if he acts in accordance with it.” He tilted his head. “And you? Do you understand your Iron Bull as well, or do you hope he will be something other than what he is?”

Lord Dorian swallowed, turning back to the mirror. For a long moment, he was silent. Then: “I know what he is. I’ve bedded him and fought beside him enough. He’s a brute.”

Rilienus hummed thoughtfully. “Indeed.” Then, studying Lord Dorian, he remarked, “You have not kept company with him in almost a fortnight.”

A snort. “He has half of Skyhold with which to replace me, I’m sure he hasn’t noticed.”

“Is that what you want?” Rilienus asked. “To be missed? To be sought?”

With a sigh, Lord Dorian tapped his comb against the surface of the table serving as a vanity. “I don’t want to be pursued like some maiden. And,” he pointed with the comb, “I don’t want to be hounded the way Adaar hounds _you_. But…perhaps some indication that any of it matters to him at all…would be nice.”

“If you do not wish to be pursued like a maiden, then why are you sitting still and waiting for him like one?”

Lord Dorian hesitated, looking surprised, then sighed and stood up. “Oh, Rilienus. It is good to have your friendship.” He reached out, and Rilienus happily met the embrace. Then, after a moment of brotherly closeness, Lord Dorian pulled back, patting his shoulder. “All right, you reek. Take a bath.”


	19. Iron Bull versus Wuv, Twu Wuv

It was spring in Skyhold.

Michel de Chevin called upon the lady ambassador in her office. “My lady, if I may request your indulgence, I wish to send this letter.”

Josephine was happy to see the chevalier—their meetings were not long or many, but he was a gentleman and quite good company—but the request confused her. Missives that fell under her purview and not Leliana’s were deposited in piles; no one needed to seek special permission to use Skyhold’s mail carriers.

“Of course, Ser de Chevin. If your letter is headed for Orlais, this pile here—”

“Please pardon me, but no. I wish to give this letter into _your_ keeping.” He extended it. “You see, it is addressed to…your parents.”

Josephine blinked, freezing in the act of taking the letter. “Very…well…” The question of _why_ buzzed busily in her mind, but Michel spoke again quickly.

“It is a letter asking for their consent to court their daughter.”

_What? But…when did he even meet Yvette?_

“I am fully aware that by Antivan law, _you_ are, in fact, the head of the household, so I put this letter in your hands first. If you choose not to have it delivered, whatever your parents might have said on the matter will be of no import. However, if you are favorable to my suit, I hope to hear an equally favorable answer from your parents, so that I may formally court you.”

It took Josephine several moments to realize what she’d heard. Then, with a slight gasp, “What? Me?”

Michel de Chevin’s face was likewise surprised. “Why, yes. Of course you…who else?”

“I…thought perhaps you meant my sister.”

“You have a sister?”

“Of course! Yvette Montilyet, the…ah, painter.”

A sincere and deep bow. “Your pardon, my lady, but I have not met your sister. It is _your_ hand in marriage I seek.”

Stunned, Josephine reached for a response and came up with nothing for several long moments. Then finally, instinctive manners kicked in. “I thank you, messere. I will…consider it.”

“That is all I ask.” Michel bowed again. “My lady, a pleasant day to you.”

Still in shock, Josephine watched him walk away. Then she startled, realizing the focus of her gaze, and quickly redirected her eyes downward, to the letter in her hands.

\--

Michel de Chevin slumped against the wall of the main hall, breathing hard. He pulled a handkerchief from his jacket and began to mop up the sweat on the back of his neck. It took him several minutes to steady his racing heart—minutes in which he barely noticed the odd looks he was receiving.

Iron Bull, heading in to see Josephine, paused, studied him, and then gave him a few heavy pats on the shoulder. “Breathe through it, big guy. You’ll live.”

\--

Scout Harding didn’t have the benefit of elven vision, but she had a sort of sixth sense that served her well in scouting. And today it was going off constantly—the “I’m being watched” feeling. It wasn’t bad or threatening, but it kept putting her on instinctive alert when she preferred to be relaxing. That was the whole point of being in Skyhold—letting the scout senses cool off for a bit.

Finally, she crossed the yard, stepped around the corner of one wall, and smiled up at a startled Knight-Captain. “Hey Rylen. Do you want to get dinner with me?”

\--

Iron Bull returned to his seat in the tavern and noticed Scout Harding had come inside and was sitting at a table with Cullen’s second-in-command. Looked like they were just starting to eat—or Harding was. Rylen’s face was a dark reddish color that almost blended out the tattoos, and he looked like he wasn’t sure about putting anything in his stomach. He didn’t look miserable though—kind of happy and…panicked?

_Hmm. Weird._

Iron Bull slapped him once on the back as he passed. “Take it easy, big guy. You’ll live.”

\--

Adan dropped to one knee in the garden—beside a planter with deep mushroom in it, how awkward—and declared his undying love aloud and then asked Flissa to marry him, with at least a dozen people in earshot and now, of course, watching attentively.

Flissa giggled happily. “Oh, of course I will, you silly goose!”

Applause all around, gentle smiles from Mother Giselle, and then a face popped over the battlements.

“Aww! Does this mean you ain’t coming to Girls’ Night anymore?”

Flissa giggled up at Sera. “Sorry!”

Sera stuck her tongue out. “Well, weren’t gonna ask ya! I can be in love too! Me an’ Widdle are the _most_ romantic!”

\--

It was a rowdy night in the tavern. Adan was roaring drunk and laughing his head off. Every time someone new congratulated him, he lost it again. The Chargers were scheming—they kept buying him drinks. Iron Bull had a suspicion they were betting on when he’d hurl.

Flissa grabbed Adan for a whirl around the room, and when the song ended and Dalish distracted her with congratulations, Adan nearly lost his feet. Bull caught him and steadied him. “Easy, big guy.” Then, he decided Adan’s legs weren’t all that steady anyway, and he guided him into a chair and grabbed a cup and filled it with water for him. “Here, drink this for a bit.”

Adan did, suddenly quieting a lot, his head rolling dizzily as he beamed…and tears appeared in his eyes. “Can you believe it?” he slurred. “A girl like that. What’s she like about a crabby old arse like me?” He sniffled. “Maker’s ears, I don’t know what t’do with m’self.”

And Bull guided the water cup for him to drink so Adan wouldn’t pour it all over himself, and, without knowing what else to say, he just nodded and said, “You’ll live.”

\--

Adan puked, the Chargers cheered and coin was exchanged, and Flissa took her new fiancé off to bed. It was early in the evening yet, and the tavern was still crowded, but things had settled down considerably—everyone having exhausted themselves all in a rush early on.

Scout Harding and Knight-Captain Rylen had moved to a more secluded corner with drinks, and they were still talking. Leaning awful close for it and smiling a lot, too.

_Cute_.

Bull looked up when Dorian entered the tavern, and his stomach did a funny flip right away. Dorian hadn’t been in here much lately, and when he was, he was with Varric or Sera. Tonight, he was alone, and he strode purposefully over to the Chargers.

_Well, here goes._ Whatever was going to happen…was going to happen _now_ , it looked like.

In silence, and in full view of the tavern, Dorian strode up to him and shoved a bunch of flowers against his chest. Then he sat down regally and signaled the serving girl for a drink.

“Uh…” Bull had caught the bundle in order to keep it from falling into a pile in his lap. “Hey big guy…what’s this?”

Dorian spared him an aloof glance. “They’re _flowers_.”

“I can see that…what are they for?”

A put-upon sigh. “They’re a _gift_. I suppose you _wouldn’t_ know anything about flower meanings. They signify passion, affection, and intent. In bald terms, I’m _courting_ you, you insufferable beast.”

Every Charger was staring, many with jaws slack. Bull wasn’t far off that expression himself.

The girl brought Dorian his drink, and he half-drained his tankard in one go.

“This is hardly a proposal of marriage, just so you know,” Dorian…well, _lectured_ , really. “If you could read the flowers, you’d see that it’s merely a declaration of deep and sincere feelings and a wish to belong exclusively to the beloved…” He sighed. “Which would be _you_.”

Lost, Bull glanced over at Krem. Krem knew what was up with humans. Krem was also a pretty good strategist and usually had the best advice.

Krem mouthed, very obviously, _Kiss! Him!_ while pointing at Dorian and making some kind of odd gesture, bumping the sides of his fists together.

Bull thought for a second—a second in which he studied Dorian, the rigid line of his shoulders and spine, the slight flush on the back of his neck—and he figured, _Yeah…I can do that._

He set the flowers aside, stood, turned to Dorian, and picked him up, hands under his arms. Dorian yelped, and Bull put him down on a footstool, which set them at about eye level. Then he kissed him.

Dorian’s answering kiss, and his arms around Bull’s neck, probably meant this was a good thing.

When they broke apart, Bull said, a little breathlessly, “I accept.”

Dorian’s face was a war between snooty and a smile. “Well. I should _hope_ so.” Then Bull grinned, and Dorian’s snooty look lost the war.

\--

The sun rose, and Dorian stirred, his moustache tickling Bull’s chest. He just watched the Vint, waking up in his bed, and his chest felt all funny now, but his stomach was fine.

Dorian sighed. Curled closer. Blinked his eyes open and looked up at him. Smiling. Almost…shy. “Good morning…Amatus.”

“Mornin’ Kadan.”

Then Dorian winced, still smiling. “This is silly, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“All of this. You and I. It’s positively ludicrous.”

Bull hummed. “I guess.” Then he grinned. “It’s okay, though. We’ll live.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's pretty much The End. Short epilogue tomorrow, and then it's so long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, goodnight. :)


	20. The Inquisition versus Happy Endings

Corypheus died.

Cassandra become Divine, which meant it was just as well she never snagged herself a qunari lover. That would have been scandalous.

Josephine married Michel de Chevin. Their children were going to be _gorgeous._

Adan married Flissa.

Fairbanks married Clara.

Solas disappeared right when they’d won, which Adaar thought was fittingly weird of him.

Leliana backed off on murdering and torturing people for being in the wrong place at the wrong time or wearing the wrong shoes. She still scared everyone.

Tanner joined the Valo-Kas—probably for reasons no one wanted to hear about.

Varric published the account of the Inquisition, which was even trashier than the _Tale of the Champion—_ somehow. It sold like hotcakes.

Sera married Dagna—or “Widdle.” She insisted on using the nickname in their vows.

Cullen continued to not have sex with Adaar and lose at cards but win at chess.

Every high dragon in Ferelden and Orlais died with the sound of a childish _wahooo_ of glee in their ears, even if Adaar was bloody and barely standing at the end of it.

Loranil adventured far and wide, always trying new things—sometimes regretting it.

Scout Harding and Knight-Captain Rylen didn’t get married, exactly, but they sure as shit didn’t break up either.

Livius Erimond died painfully.

Sutherland married Shayd. Their adventuring company kept up a friendly rivalry with the Chargers.

The Chargers were winning.

Morrigan disappeared, eager to get away from all the tiresome people fucking each other.

Crassius Servis set up a “living erotic art show” in Val Royeaux. It was scandalous. Tickets were _expensive._

Clarence Adaar disbanded the Inquisition, so _there_.

Rilienus kissed the stump of a lost arm and realized over two years had passed and this giant idiot was still crazy about him…so maybe it was love after all.

And Dorian went back to Tevinter, as everyone knows, and bought a sending crystal, and bought a villa, and often told himself he really shouldn’t be in love with a Tal-Vashoth mercenary, it was _tacky_ —but then again, he really was. Oh well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Goodbye, sweet Dragon Age.
> 
> As an FYI, one of my novels will be available for free for the last five days of October. Unfortunately, due to POLICY, I can't link you to it, and I know it's a couple weeks away at this point. Sorry for the inconvenience. Some roundabout links in my profile, if you're interested. 
> 
> <3


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